


All the Things (My True Love Gave to Me)

by fireaway



Series: Winter Things [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Festive Pregnancy, Friends to Lovers, Holiday Shopping Adventures, Ice Skating Marriage Proposal, Inspired by an Ariana Grande Song, Kiss Cams and Hockey Games, May Be Offensive to People From Jersey, Ski Resorts and Fireplaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireaway/pseuds/fireaway
Summary: “How does he already know he wants to spend his life with her?”“Sometimes you just know.”I wouldn’t know,she almost says, but that would also be a lie. Because Michelle already knows she wants the rest of her life to be filled with days like this: with her family all together, a dog she can love even though he might not love her back, and her very best friend, Peter Parker.She’s wanted days like this for forever.Or,Five gifts Peter gives to Michelle and the one gift she gives to him.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Winter Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579435
Comments: 53
Kudos: 229





	1. Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Turns out, I got inspired again by Ariana's Christmas & Chill EP. Now, here we are! 
> 
> This was really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy! And Happy Holidays!!
> 
> Title from and story inspired by "True Love" by Ariana Grande.
> 
> (minor **warning:** there are some sexual innuendos--like, right off the bat, right at the beginning--and some swear words)

**ONE**

**_Nineteen Years Old_ **

_  
On that first day of Christmas  
When you gave me all them **kisses**  
Boy, you showed me things  
Come hold me, please, and never let me go  
_

If there is anything Michelle Jones _isn’t_ , it’s a girl who would shy away from embarrassing Peter Parker. 

“God, Peter!” 

Generally, she may be a quiet and reserved person, but she sure as hell can be _cocky_. 

“Yeah, that’s the spot!”

Michelle lets out the most obscene noise as Peter moves over her, his thighs hugging her waist. He leans down, letting out an exaggerated sigh. 

When she’s with Peter, being vocal about, well, _everything_ , by spewing words at an inappropriate amount, is one of her favorite hobbies. 

“You gotta be quiet, Em. Can you do that for me?”

“No way.” She shakes her head and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Her right cheek is pressed against the bed, and it’s oddly comfortable, especially with how Peter’s knees rest at her sides, framing her hips. 

How they ended up in this compromising position, she’s not entirely sure. Her memory is a bit foggy, her head slightly aching. But Michelle can’t complain if it means getting a reaction out of her best friend.

A moan escapes from her mouth as she closes her eyes and relishes in the feeling of his hands on her skin. 

“It feels _so good_.”

“I know,” Peter grunts from above her. “But you’re being really loud.”

Michelle lets out a satisfied sigh before feeling him pause his movements.

“Why did you stop? You’re good at this,” she tells him. At that, his weight shifts and the pressure on her body resumes and leaves her gasping. “Take pride in it.”

“Thanks, but with the sounds you’re making, it just sounds like-”

“Oh, yes!” Michelle interrupts and shouts, almost a little too obnoxiously, “Right there. Do that again.”

“MJ,” he warns and painfully digs his thumbs into the muscles of her back. She yelps at the slight harshness. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not funny. You’re also a terrible liar. There’s no way this massage is that good.”

“You’d be surprised.” Michelle snorts, practically feeling the heat rising from his reddened cheeks and flushed with humiliation. “Sorry,” she mumbles shortly after. “Thanks for doing this. Really.”

He hums and lets his fingers travel up to her shoulders, kneading away the tension there. Michelle’s eyes begin to droop. His hands are a _dream_ , and they’re putting her to sleep. Peter Parker is truly the greatest best friend in the world. 

“You’re so clumsy,” he scolds in a way that sounds playful and serious at the same time. “You got legs as long as these and don’t know how to use them?”

She scoffs. “You call yourself an Avenger yet whenever you see a spider, you jump into my arms and scream like a little girl?”

He huffs. “We were twelve!” Peter protests.

“Happened last week too.”

He groans and tightens his legs locked around her body. 

“You are insufferable.” 

Michelle smirks into the bedsheets. “How is it possible that Spider-Man is deathly afraid of spiders? Where’s the logic in that?”

“Funny,” he deadpans.

“Seriously. I don’t get it. Please enlighten me.”

Peter places his thumb and index finger over the skin of her ribs and pinches. 

“Ouch!” she yelps, before his fingers immediately move to caress the area. 

“Not so funny now, is it?” he says, “That’s how the spider bite felt like. You’d be afraid of them too.”

Her body shakes with giggles under his weight as she imagines Peter flinching, possibly even squealing, as a spider bites him.

“ _Maybe_ you have a point,” she admits.

Fighting drowsiness, Michelle forces an eye open and peeks at the window a few feet from her. The blinding white outside causes her to squint. She knows that if she were to breathe onto the glass, it would fog up in contrast to the winter air on its other side. 

The snow is abundant. Blankets of snow sweep and coat the mountains and dust the leafless trees. The sun’s light bounces off of the ice crystals, making the day brighter than the sunniest summer one; and not a single cloud spots the sky. 

A crowd of people donning ski gear a mere mile away look like a small blemish in the snow as they wait on the lift lines. In the distance, the overhead cables rappel from the foot of the mountains up to its peaks. Faint joyful screams of skiers carry towards the resort as they speed down the snow, and Michelle wonders how they do it without their feet giving way and causing them to tumble to near death. 

She had certainly tried. 

Tried and failed, that is. 

It’s not her fault that she can’t ski. She _swears_. 

Everyone knows that Michelle is a quick learner, the best student. She’s tough, intelligent, and there’s nothing she cannot do when she puts her mind to it. So when Peter had invited her to spend a couple of days at the Poconos with him, she jumped at the invitation. 

Because, like Peter, Michelle’s also got a competitive fire to her. It’s what fueled their friendship back in high school. Both of them always vying to get higher scores on exams, collect the more accurate and precise data in chemistry lab, campaigning to be the decathlon team captain. Now fast forward to the end of their fall semester of their second year of college, Michelle wants to show that she’s also better at him when it comes to skiing. 

Except she slipped and fell and became bruised black and blue and maybe even got a minor concussion. But it wasn’t her fault, Michelle needs to make that clear.

It was the snow’s fault. 

Physics can prove it. The snow is too slippery. There is not enough friction to give resistance as she sped down head first into thick piles of hardened snow. Add that to the angle of the mountain, the steepness which had accelerated her velocity with every passing second. Gravity also did not work in her favor. 

The world was against her, is what she told Peter. 

It was _not_ her fault. 

However, she couldn’t convince him. His response was to laugh at her butt sticking up in the air and hair tangled underneath her helmet and matted all over her face. He had taken great joy in being the more equipped skier. Which isn’t fair, considering his powers. 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Michelle isn’t a sore loser.

When he finally composed himself, he helped her to her feet, and they trudged their way back to the warm resort. Four ice packs and an ibuprofen pill or two later, Peter plants himself onto her back and goes to town at her sore muscles. 

She lays and he sits in silence as his hands learn the curves of her torso.

“Ow,” Michelle whimpers when he accidentally grazes a bruise. 

Peter’s touch lingers over her shoulder blade. “Shit, Em,” he curses. “It’s really tender. The snow did a number on you.”

“It hurts like a bitch,” she whines. “How do you deal with it? You get bumps and bruises all the time.”

“I’ve got accelerated healing.”

“I know, but they still hurt. Don’t they?”

The sound of laughter erupts from the hallway right outside of their room. Families and friends returning after a long, fun day on the slopes. The sore feeling of losing to Peter melts away and all that is left for Michelle is a slight pang of guilt. 

Peter had been so excited to come here and tackle the skis with her. So eager to climb the mountain and conquer it with his best friend. But the slippery, frictionless snow had to go and ruin their trip. And now Michelle is injured because of it. 

“When I was younger and whenever I scraped my knee, Aunt May would kiss it. And just like that, my knee wouldn’t hurt as much.” 

Peter shifts to sit lower on her back as his hands skim to massage down her spine. Michelle bites back a smile, feeling a little ticklish, but also at the image of Aunt May kissing his pain away as if he was still a little boy.

“That’s sweet. Do kisses actually work?”

The heater is on at full blast. The wool sweater almost completely off of her body clings around Michelle’s neck and hugs her breasts. The warmth of everything combined with the warmth of Peter’s hands begin to replicate the cozy feeling of sitting by her grandmother’s fireplace on Christmas Eve. 

However, they are miles from Queens, New York. It’s four days until Christmas, and the only fire that’s burning are the decorative, flameless electric candles flickering at the bedside. Nothing in this room even remotely feels like the holidays.

Peter bends down towards the sheets to bring his face close to hers, flashing a smug smile that she immediately wants to slap away. Michelle frowns at the sight. 

Peter Parker plus a smug smile always equals a very terrible idea.

“Wanna find out?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed.

Well, maybe except for _that_ idea.

She gulps.

Admittedly, Michelle maybe, sort of, kind of thinks her best friend is crazy cute. Like _dreamy, wavy hair, a dopey, heartwarming grin, endearing science nerd tendencies with biceps that could choke her_ , crazy cute. Only maybe, though. She swears. 

But for heaven’s sake, Michelle isn’t _blind_. She’s merely a young woman who is secure in what, or better yet, _who_ excites her; never wanting to deprive herself of the simple pleasures in life such as enjoying how his stomach looks when Peter strips himself of his shirt right in front of her. 

_He’s got abs, okay?_ And they’re not bad to gape at every once in awhile. 

So as she lays beneath him, bare back, exposed skin and all, Peter is suggesting with a glint in his eye that he kisses her bruises. And Michelle would be damned if she does not allow herself to enjoy that simple pleasure too. 

“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it already,” Michelle relents.

His smile widens into something more sincere, something she’s not sure of, and it momentarily leaves her breathless in anticipation. Never in all of their years of being friends has Peter ever kissed any part of her that wasn’t her cheek or (when she cares to bow her head) her forehead. Therefore, the bruises on her back are uncharted territory. 

Michelle gulps as he pushes the sweater further around her neck and ghosts his lips over a tender bruise at her shoulder. He smells like the complimentary vanilla shampoo in their bathroom, and his cool breath from their minty toothpaste kisses her sensitive skin before his lips ever do. 

The rapid beating of her heart increases. She can practically hear it pounding in her ears. The warm air of the room undeniably heats up, and the bright snow outside starts to dim, fading into darkness as Peter feathers her black and blue. 

His Christmas gift to her is coming early; Michelle thinks she might pass out. 

Until finally, her breath hitches. Peter presses his lips into the curve of her shoulder, onto her skin that is now tingling with a feeling she’s never felt before. Her eyes threaten to fall shut. 

The first thing she notices is that his kisses are slow. Calculated and careful. _Thorough_. Very fitting to the studious, rising mechanical engineer that he is. Peter continues down and around the length of her back, making sure to care for every bruise, every inch of each, and then some. He returns to them several times, like he’s conducting an experiment over and over again, searching for consistent data. Trying to find a pattern in the way her bruises dot her body. 

They’re steady. Easy and soothing. _Unfaltering_. Eventually, his mouth starts to drag, trailing languid kisses up and down her spine, across the span of her ribs. And as he draws circles with his thumbs at her hips, Michelle feels sleep start to overtake her, nearly pulling her under. Her eyelids weighing down, getting heavy beneath the blanketing affections covering her skin. 

Who needs a fireplace to warm her up when she’s got this?

When he reaches the dip in her back, he casually asks, “Feeling better?” as if her heart isn’t racing and her mind isn’t going haywire. As if these kisses aren’t anything but friendly and her vision isn’t blacking out at the overwhelming feeling.

Or as if she isn’t trying to harbor thoughts about what it would be like if something finally happened between them. _As if_.

Michelle shrugs. She’s feeling beyond better. She’s feeling giddy, dizzy and weak in the best possible way, but she’d take that thought to the grave before she ever tells him that. 

“Yeah, I guess,” she desperately tries to answer without sounding out of breath. “But they didn’t cure my concussion.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say, because although Michelle can’t see him, she can tell that Peter lights up like a Christmas tree. 

“Don’t worry!” he chirps, “I’m _all_ over it,” before diving his head to her hair, dotting kisses everywhere from the crown of her head, down to her ear, her cheek, her _neck_. Attacking the side of her face as she squeals at the contact, not leaving a single spot untouched.

“Gross!” she screeches. But Michelle starts to laugh because the feeling of his hair and his lips _tickles_ , and the pain in her head subsides with every press, every brush. He goes around several times, once again. His own laugh ringing in her ear as he passes it; the sound makes her heart skip and her toes curl. She’s sure her face is reddening. 

Until abruptly, his attack cedes. Peter leans away and pulls himself off her body, the warmth gradually diminishing as he abandons her. The fire dying down. Michelle flips around to face him and is met with his shining eyes and a god awful cheeky smile. 

_What a dork_. 

Yet the rise and fall of her chest is obvious, and she tries to catch her breath while pulling her sweater down over her torso, finally covering the skin that her best friend showed love to. 

“So did they work?” 

Michelle rolls her eyes. 

“You’re insufferable,” she echoes.

Peter’s smile widens. The light reflecting from the snow illuminates his face, and Michelle finds herself holding her breath, admiring how his teeth seem to sparkle and his eyes seem to shine like stars. 

Peter Parker is not insufferable. 

Not even close. 

In the evening, when they climb into the bed, fuzzy socks on their feet that are eventually slid off, they fall asleep while holding each other close, like they frequently do. 

Except this time it feels a bit different. Like maybe everything has changed.


	2. Promise Ring

**TWO**

**_Twenty Years Old_ **

_  
On that second day of Christmas  
Said you felt like something's missing  
So you promised me that **promise ring** to keep 'til we get old  
_

A lot can change over the course of a year.

For starters, students on opposite sides of the country, Ned Leeds and Betty Brant, had reconnected sometime between the months of June and August. And both had failed to mention their relationship to anybody until Ned had let it slip over turkey and mashed potatoes at the annual Friendsgiving. 

Let’s just say, at his best friend’s reveal, Peter spit out his wine all over the dinner table, some of it dribbling onto his pants. 

He doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Then, there was that odd autumn day when an envelop with a wax stamp seal showed up in the mail, embossed with Michelle’s name, signed and delivered from Liz Allan, who no one had heard from since her move to Oregon. 

Yet that wasn’t even the most shocking part, because inside contained an invitation to her wedding with the good man, Harry Osborn, Michelle’s boyfriend all throughout high school.

Michelle doesn’t want to talk about it.

Among the grand events, there were the minor details, like how Peter’s hair had gotten a little curlier and Flash had managed to switch his major three times already. But most interestingly, by the time the holiday season rolls around, Michelle thinks it would be a great idea to adopt a dog. 

“Who’s a good boy?” she coos at the golden retriever.

The dog’s name is Parker.

However, his name was _originally_ Oliver.

Except Peter had promised that he would do Michelle’s calculus homework for the entire spring semester if she named her dog after him.

And Michelle _hates_ calculus.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Peter groans from her grandmother’s guest room. 

Although, Michelle may hate doing her math homework, it sure doesn’t compare to the way her dog really seems to hate her.

Parker lounges by the fireplace, curled up with his head on the floor, blankly watching Michelle while she rolls onto her stomach and flashes a toothy grin, trying to no avail to get her pet to interact with her. He blinks, merely unamused, before rising to his feet and padding towards the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“Parker,” Michelle whines as the dog climbs over the many gifts piled under the tree. “Come here.”

“Coming!” Peter chirps, and she hears him jump off the bed. 

She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t talking to _you_.” 

Michelle pouts when Peter appears in the doorway. A black sweatshirt with an image of a tiger hangs off of his shoulders, and it looks suspiciously like hers, but she chooses to ignore it. 

“I think my dog hates me.”

A wire of Christmas lights strung across the wall starts to flicker erratically, Parker’s paws repeatedly pressing on the switch by an electrical outlet. Peter laughs when Michelle pulls at her hair.

“Didn’t you almost step on him the other day?”

“Not _almost_ ,” she rushes to defend herself, then realizes what follows isn’t any better. She cringes. “I _did_.”

“MJ, that’s why he hates you!”

“It was an accident!” she exclaims, pressing her fists against her eyes in frustration. “I didn’t mean to!”

Peter moves to sit on the floor beside her and reaches to pull her hands away from her face. His smile drops.

“Hey.” He furrows his eyebrows at the sight of Michelle’s watery eyes. “Why does this bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Em, you’re tearing up.”

She frantically wipes at her eyes, hoping that the crackling fire at her fireplace is louder than her sniffles. It’s not. 

“I’m not upset.”

“You adopted him just three days ago.” Peter lies down on his side and turns to her. The soft, flickering glow of the fire casting shadows over his face. “It might take him awhile to like you.”

Michelle glances at Parker, who had found his way onto the sofa, now curling himself next to one of the throw pillows. He’s golden. Beautiful. Like warm sunshine that she has the privilege of holding, and Michelle can’t help but compare the dog to her best friend. 

Her eyes find Peter’s. “You mean, like it took you awhile to like me?”

He snorts. “Maybe not _that_ long.”

She can hear her grandmother humming along to “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” somewhere in the kitchen, the clatter of spoon against pan and knives on chopping boards are comforting noises in the background. 

Michelle smells onions and tries to convince herself that they are the reason why her eyes are watering.

“Am I an unlikable person?”

Peter is taken aback by her question. “What? Of course-”

“ _Of course?_ ” Michelle exclaims immediately, eyes bugging out and hair wildly fanned around her head.

“ _Not._ Of course _not_.” Peter rolls his eyes. “You didn’t let me finish.”

She sighs, chewing on her lip. Her foot grazes a chew toy at the edge of her grandmother’s rug. “What if Parker never likes me?”

“That’s impossible. You named him after me,” Peter replies with a smile. “He has no choice _but_ to like you.”

She returns the smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“Why do _you_ even like me?” 

Peter considers this for a moment before he shrugs. “I don’t know. I like spending my time with you. You’re essentially my favorite person. It’s like a three-way tie with Ned and May.”

“But like, if you had to choose just one of us,” she begins.

Peter gives her an unamused look. “Seriously, Em?”

“You can just rank us, you know?” her voice an octave higher than usual. “Top three?”

“I’m not doing that.”

She sighs and blows a strand of hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell them.”

He shakes his head, the curlier curls bouncing slightly. “Still not doing it.”

“Come on.” She scoots closer to her friend, bringing their faces only inches apart. She pokes his ribs through the soft sweater he had stolen from her. “Boost my ego, Peter.” 

Her body blocks most of the firelight, only a bit of it is able to reach his face. His eyes twinkle as the fire flickers, and they look golden. Maybe like starlight. 

“Why don’t I just tell you about how pretty you look?” he asks.

Michelle pouts and looks away, willing the blush to disappear from her face and her ears. “Number three: Ned.”

“If you could just see how pretty you look right now. Next to the fireplace. Near the tree. Under the Christmas lights-”

She clears her throat, “Number two: May,” and stops herself as soon as she says it, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh wait, that can’t be right.”

Peter’s eyes search for hers. Michelle hears him say, “You’re really pretty, it’s actually ridiculous-”

She cuts him off, “No, number one has to be May. I’m number two.”

“Okay, you’re clearly not picking up what I’m putting down-”

“I’m the second choice.” Her eyes fly open, finally meeting his. He stares at her, like he’s trying to tell her something. Michelle pleads with herself to ignore it. “It’s fine. I just have to accept it.”

“Hello?” Peter cries out. “Three-way tie? Don’t you recall?”

She groans and pushes away, moving to lie on her back instead of her side, facing the popcorn ceiling and her grandmother’s dusty light fixtures. The distant sound of her parents’ laughter in the adjacent room gives rise to an unwelcome emotion inside her chest. 

Twenty five long years and two pain-in-the-ass kids later, Mom and Dad are as disgustingly in love as ever. The emotion inside her chest makes it ache.

“Why is he marrying her?” 

She blurts it out, without warning, and just like that, Michelle realizes this was never about her new dog to begin with.

Peter sighs. “Oh. There it is.” 

“What?” She steals a glance at him.

Something dawns on Peter, just as it dawns on her. 

“The wedding is next week. You’re upset.”

She doesn’t try to deny it. 

“It’s not like I want him back. Or that I miss him or even _thought_ about marrying him, but-” she sighs, and she’s not crying over Harry Osborn. She’s not. “Why her? Why not a stranger? Why not some girl I never even heard of before?” 

_Why Liz, of all people?_ she wants to ask. She so badly wants it to be anyone but Midtown’s It girl.

“You were in love with her, weren’t you?”

Peter chuckles. “Don’t get too crazy. I wasn’t in love with her.”

“Okay, fine.” Michelle shrugs. “You had an infatuation. An unhinged crush. Teenage hormones and all that.”

“ _Unhinged?_ ” he exclaims.

“I admit. I get it. No judgement. Honestly. Who didn’t have a crush on Liz?”

“I don’t know. You?”

“If I said I didn’t feel a tiny attraction, I’d be lying. I have eyes, Peter. She’s, like, insanely gorgeous.”

“True, but-”

“Let’s not dwell on it.”

“But-”

“We’re so young,” she continues. “How does he already know he wants to spend his life with her?” Her voice catches in her throat, and maybe, Peter notices, but he doesn’t mention it.

Aunt May’s and Ned’s laughter drifts upstairs from the basement. Michelle’s little sister’s squeals too. The corners of Peter’s lips curves upwards. 

“Sometimes you just know.”

_I wouldn’t know,_ she almost says, but that would also be a lie. Because Michelle already knows she wants the rest of her life to be filled with days like this: with her family all together, a dog she can love even though he might not love her back, and her very best friend, Peter Parker. 

She’s wanted days like this for forever.

“It wasn’t too long ago that he said he was in love with _me._ ”

“A lot can change in two years,” Peter counters. 

“Oh yeah?” Her parents laugh again, probably at some cheesy Christmas movie. She swears that they and the popcorn ceiling are mocking her. “Like what?”

Peter pushes himself up on his elbows and leans over her, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ears. It’s in that moment when Michelle lets her mind wander. That action alone reminds her all too well of last Christmas. Of slippery slopes and a mild concussion; of tender hands on her skin and kisses on her back, her head, her neck. 

Something tells her that he’s reminded of last Christmas too, because his hands delicately follow the chain around her neck, before arriving at the flower he bought for her from Venice; a little broken, a few petals missing and lost, but Michelle liked it better that way.

He traces it with a faraway look in his eyes; reminiscent, nostalgic, taking her back to that London bridge a few years ago. She was with Harry, at the time, who wasn’t a big fan of Peter’s gift to her.

But it never mattered. Michelle was a big fan of Peter. Always has been.

“What if I told you, you could get proposed to right now? Show up to their wedding next week with a ring on your finger?” he suggests, a glint in his eye that looks a little too much like last Christmas.

Michelle lets out a laugh of disbelief. 

“I’d say you’re out of your mind.”

“Hey! Nothing wrong with being out of your mind.” He jumps up, before getting down on one knee. “Michelle Jones-” 

“Peter, what the f-”

“This was supposed to be your Christmas present,” he starts.

“I swear.” Her mind blanks at the sight of him. “Don’t fuck with me-”

“And it doesn’t really match, but it’s still a black dahlia all the same.” Peter shoves a hand into his pocket.

“If you don’t stand up right now-”

Peter twists his wrist as he struggles to remove his hand. “I saw it at the store and immediately thought of you.”

She hears her parents laughing again, her grandmother’s oven timer starts beeping, but her tunnel vision rushes in and clouds her sight, and all Michelle can focus on is the shiny ring as it leaves his pocket. Gleaming black jewels and a silver band. 

“Is this a prank? Did Flash put you up to this?”

“I just _had_ to get it for you-”

Peter stammers. Michelle digs her nails into the carpet. 

“Are you messing with me?”

“Because I know it’s your favorite flower, and it’s just so beautiful and you’re also, uh-”

Her face turns beet red, but she refuses to keep her mouth shut. If she stops talking, she may never speak again. 

“Because I feel like you’re messing with me.”

“Anyway, obviously it’s not your typical engagement ring, but when Harry sees the flower-”

She sits up, her eyes suddenly dry. “Okay, you’re definitely messing with me.”

“He’s going to put two and two together and know it’s from me,” Peter finishes his spiel and takes a deep breath, almost like he’s nervous, and this is really happening.

“So, you’re suggesting that I pretend I’m engaged. To you? To make him jealous?” Michelle gulps.

He forces out a laugh. “I’d hope he doesn’t get jealous, especially if he’s marrying someone.” Peter briefly casts his eyes down at the floor, memorizing the pattern of her grandmother’s rug, the same pattern it’s always been for the past twenty years. He looks up after a moment.

“I just want to give this to you because I think you’d like it.” Peter smiles, and the black jewels catch the firelight and the Christmas lights all at once. Michelle almost wants to shake her head, because Peter is wrong. So very wrong, because she doesn't like it. She _loves_ it. 

“And if it helps to pretend like you’re engaged at your ex’s wedding, than I want to give it to you now.”

From the corner of her eye, her grandmother emerges from the kitchen, carrying a big tray, the strong aroma of garlic and spices follows her.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Fine china clinks from the dining room. Parker pads onto the rug and then onto the hardwood, trailing after the delicious smell. The soft thuds of Aunt May, Ned, and her little sister carry from the basement stairs, and the television suddenly goes quiet from where her parents are. 

And maybe it’s because it’s the holidays, and it’s the season of love and gift giving and being with family that gets to her head, but Michelle imagines that if Peter and her were to actually get married, nothing would really change. 

Their families gather together all the time. Their families are each other’s. Their lives are intertwined in every way that matters. 

“I’m not pretending I’m engaged, but I can still lie and say it’s a promise ring,” is all Michelle can say. “So, promise me that didn’t cost you a fortune?” 

Peter holds up the ring. She offers him her left hand.

“Promise.”


	3. I Love You

**THREE**

**_Twenty One Years Old_ **

_  
On the third day of Christmas  
We got all in our feelings  
Said **I love you** and meant it  
_

Peter Parker is Michelle’s best friend.

He has been ever since he was eight years old, from that fateful summer morning while he was learning how to ride his scooter down a busy street in Queens.

And maybe they didn’t start off in a good place. After all, he had accidentally rammed his scooter into her ankle as she and her mother exited a store, Michelle screaming her very first swear words, _Son of a-!_ right to his face. 

But all was forgiven once she got her revenge, finding him two blocks down at the line for the ice cream truck. “Hey, I remember you,” was all he had managed to say before Michelle snatched his ice cream cone for herself. 

Peter had stared in awe as she took one long greedy lick through two chocolate and vanilla scoops. And what should have made the little boy burst into tears, became the very moment Michelle is almost certain when she fell in love with him. Because he merely flashed her a toothy grin and laughed. 

“If you wanted to be friends, you could have just asked,” he said. 

Both kids, dazzled with wide eyes and unruly curly hair stared at each other, melting ice cream dripping between them, sticky and sweet sugar tainted around their lips. 

She never did end up asking. 

They became best friends anyway.

Being best friends comes with best friend duties, and with time, over a decade later, Michelle has come to realize that some things never change. Like her duty of teaching Peter how to braid her hair, because he’s curious. Or letting Peter steal some of her food, even though he lied and said he wasn’t hungry. Or helping Peter get a girlfriend, because he hasn’t had a serious crush on anyone since Liz Allan.

“MJ, this is supposed to be our tradition! Ours! No one else’s!”

“Oh, don’t be so traditional, Peter. You could use some change in your life.”

“We’re graduating next semester. That’s enough change for me!”

The bell jingles as Peter holds the door open. A rush of cold air pushes them into the store, and they’re met with the bustling crowd of last minute shoppers and sleep deprived workers. They can distinctly hear a fight breaking out over the last pair of Louis Vuitton boots, and it sounds cruel and threatening; but Peter’s sixth sense isn’t going off, so the pair deems it safe to keep walking. 

In the corner, some kid is grappling with a stuck hanger at the clearance rank. In the next aisle, a shopping cart crashes into a fortunately steady shelf of ceramic mugs. And Michelle links her arm with Peter’s so they don’t lose each other in the chaos.

“Change can be a good thing,” she insists and smiles tightly at an employee trying to sell them a Lancôme perfume. 

“Em,” Peter whines, dodging an unmindful mother who swings an arm near his face while she tries on a jacket. “The New York Rangers is _our_ thing.”

“I wouldn’t exclusively call it _our_ thing. More like the entire population of New York City’s thing.”

“You know what I mean.”

A boy no older than twelve years old accidentally bumps into Michelle. Normally, she would be forgiving, but the boy is sporting a jersey for the New Jersey Devils. Peter and Michelle shoot the unsuspecting boy a glare as he walks away. 

Maybe it’s because of the inherent rivalry between New York City and north Jersey; a simple rivalry based on God knows what, but Peter and Michelle don’t _dislike_ the Devils. And they certainly don’t _hate_ them either. Those words could never capture what they feel for them.

They _despise_ the Devils, is more like it. 

“Well, it’s still our thing!” she assures Peter. “We’re still on for tonight.”

Peter scoffs. “Yeah. On for tonight with _Brad Davis_.”

Michelle stops Peter in his tracks before busying herself at a table full of face masks. She picks one made from avocado and oatmeal and plops it into their shopping basket. 

“He asked if I wanted to go out. And I said he could tag along with me and my _best friend_.” She pouts. 

“So this is a date, then?” Peter steers them away from another overly eager employee. “Tonight, of all nights?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be the third wheel.”

He forces a smile and suggestively bumps her hip with his. “You mean, _I_ get to date _the_ Brad Davis, and you’ll be the third wheel?” 

Michelle rolls her eyes. “No.”

He feigns disappointment and sighs, “Bummer.” 

“I may have invited another person.”

A phone case catches Peter’s attention, and he checks the price. “Ned hates hockey.”

“I didn’t invite Ned.”

He abandons the phone case after checking the tag.

“Flash also hates hockey.”

“I didn’t invite Flash!” Michelle groans, and a nearby father with bags under his eyes, holding maybe nine shopping bags, looks to her in frustrating solidarity and understanding. She shoots the father a sympathetic smile, before asking Peter, “Remember blonde hair, blue eyes, freshmen year general psychology?” 

“I’m not following.”

“She sat in front of us? And always turned around to ask for lecture notes even though she already had them?” she offers a couple of hints to jog his memory. However, Peter blankly stares at her. 

“Her name is Gwen Stacy?” she tries again.

“Oh, yeah.” Recognition creeps onto his face. “Gwen. I remember her. You thought she was cute.”

“Minor details.” Michelle waves it off, before locking her eyes on a pink LEGO set for her sister. “The important thing is, she thinks _you’re_ cute. And when I ran into her at the library last week, I may have sorta kinda invited her with us.”

Peter shakes and hangs his head. “Of course, you did.”

“You haven’t liked someone in _years._ Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“But you can _get_ to know her.” Michelle squats down to get a better look at the set.

“No offense to her or anything, but I’m not really interested in getting to know her.”

“Fine,” she grunts as she realizes the LEGO set is too big to fit in their basket. “You get Brad, and I get Gwen.”

“MJ!”

“What? Either way, I can’t lose.”

“How about you get me?” Peter pleads. “Me and _only_ me?”

“Peter-”

“Would you lose, then?”

Michelle sighs and stands up, the LEGO set completely forgotten. Peter’s eyes are burning into hers, warming her up and melting her to goo. It’s unfair, she thinks, that even in this shitty lighting, his eyes twinkle.

A nagging thought let’s her imagine the what ifs and the possibilities if it was just her and Peter. _Only_ her and Peter. A thought that wonders if it’s a good thing he doesn’t like anyone. Maybe there’s a good chance he could like _her._

She answers, “I could never lose with you.”

Michelle smiles and realizes how far they’ve come from ice cream trucks and ankle injuries and accidental swear words on fateful summer mornings. She had trouble asking for things then, and she has trouble asking for things now. It’s a fault of hers that she swears she’s working on. The act of inviting third parties to a Peter and MJ only holiday tradition should’ve received her best friend’s permission first. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you first.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” She shakes her head. “I should have asked first.”

Peter grips her left hand and laces them together. A black jewel ring has taken permanent residence on her finger. He doesn’t say anything, but he thumbs over it with his other hand. And it’s his way of promising her that it _is_ okay; that _they’re_ okay.

Michelle squeezes his hand three times. 

“MJ, I have to tell you some-”

Her phone chimes before he can finish. She lets go of his hand. 

“It’s Brad,” she says after reading his text. “We should go soon and grab dinner with him and Gwen. We can finish shopping tomorrow.” Michelle quickly texts back before pocketing her phone. “You were saying?”

Peter shoves his hands into his jacket and looks to the floor.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Ten minutes after seven, the four arrive at Madison Square Garden. By then, Michelle is already regretting her choice to invite Brad and Gwen.

“You are _so_ funny, Peter!”

One might think Gwen would be the one laughing at all of Peter’s terrible jokes, except for some reason, it’s Brad who can’t seem to get enough of him.

When they emerge into the arena, Brad bumps Peter’s shoulder with his own and laughs, causing both Michelle and Gwen to raise an eyebrow.

“Peter?” Michelle pushes Peter before her, into the row after Gwen, making sure he and Brad aren’t sitting next to each other. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Peter leans in and takes note of her flushed cheeks.

“You want my jacket?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you cold?”

“No.” Michelle blushes some more. Peter is such a gentleman. No wonder Brad likes him. “I’m pretty sure Brad is more into you than he’s into me.”

“Huh.” Peter shrugs and turns his attention towards the ice, but not before sending her a smug grin. “What can I say? I got game.” He tilts his head and shoots a glance to the man at Michelle’s other side. “Hey, Brad.”

Peter waves, and Brad smiles back. 

“Oh, okay.” Michelle whips her head around. “Brad, can you buy me a hot chocolate, please?”

“Sure,” he eagerly complies. “You want anything, Peter?”

“Actually-”

“He doesn’t want anything. You don’t want anything. Right, Peter? You’re good? He’s good.” Michelle urges Brad out of his seat.

“Afraid someone’s gonna steal me from you?” Peter teases once Brad is gone.

“More like, afraid Brad’s gonna go home with you tonight instead of with me.”

Michelle is pretty sure she’s imagining it when Peter’s face drops. “Wait, you wanna sleep with him?”

Her face flushes deeper, until she’s saved by Gwen, who butts in, “I’m gonna go use the restroom.”

“Cool,” Michelle replies. “I’ll come with.”

“Em, wait.” Peter’s fingers brush hers as she steps past him; his eyes search hers, stopping her from following his date. “You really like this guy?”

She takes a good look at him. Peter’s hair is even curlier than it was last year. Michelle silently curses, because it's a crime that his hair is hidden away beneath the beanie. _It’s your own fault,_ she tells herself, because it’s what she had bought for him on Black Friday. 

Her eyes fall from his hair to his face, catching how Peter chews on his lip as he waits for an answer. 

She cuts her eyes away.

“No,” she mutters. “Not even a little bit.”

Michelle excuses herself before Peter can ask her what she means.

The game goes by rather slowly, if Michelle’s being honest. She and her date aren’t exactly clicking, Peter and Gwen are sitting like a pair of children who were forced to bond in detention, and the New Jersey Devils are _crazy good,_ the score constantly leveling out. 

At the second intermission, Michelle is fidgeting her hands around the third cup of hot chocolate she had asked Brad to get for her. Their entire group is painfully awkward. Anyone nearby would notice. Gwen is constantly checking her phone, and Brad’s drumming his fingers on the railing before them. There’s Peter actively trying to catch Michelle’s eye, and Michelle deliberating ignoring him.

She sighs as the score is updated: home down by three points. Peter was right. Traditions are traditions for a reason. The New York Rangers should have stayed a Peter and MJ thing. 

As a song begins playing throughout the arena, Brad’s eyes shoot up to the jumbotron screens, and he immediately taps Michelle’s shoulder to get her attention.

_It’s the most beautiful time of the year._

“You hear that, MJ?”

At the sound of her nickname, Peter quietly huffs beside her. 

“I think they’re doing the Kiss Cam now,” Brad says.

_But I'ma be under the mistletoe._

“Awesome,” she deadpans.

One by one, couples appear on the screens. Claps and whistles chime out through the crowd, each kiss prompting endless gleeful cheers. 

Michelle tries her best to look uninterested. Sitting next to Brad Davis makes it easier. 

“What if it lands on one of us?” he wonders.

“But none of us are couples,” Michelle answers.

Brad replies, “Yeah, but the Kiss Cam doesn’t know that. And frankly, I don’t think it cares.”

_I can't stop staring at your face._

With the way this night is going, Michelle should have expected this, or at least acted a little less surprised. Because as the Kiss Cam scans the crowd for one last couple, Peter takes it upon himself to keep staring at her, like he’s done for the entirety of the game.

_With you, under the mistletoe._

The whole purpose was to make Peter happy. Get him a girlfriend. Or maybe even a boyfriend, she considers, if Brad is who he’s into. If the Kiss Cam lands on Gwen and Peter, then maybe Michelle would sigh in relief. Maybe that’s all it would take for Michelle to stop thinking about Peter in _that_ way.

“MJ,” Peter tries. She almost gives in, if it weren’t for what happens next.

It’s probably just who Michelle is as a person; her luck getting the best of her, or the universe laughing at her like this is some kind of sick joke, forcing her to face the music and pay attention to her heart. 

_The wise men followed the star the way I followed my heart._

She knows for sure that this is a sick joke when the Kiss Cam lands on herself, but what’s worse is that it’s Peter freakin’ Parker on the camera with her. Her fingers go lax, nearly letting her hot chocolate slip free from her grip, and her stomach lurches as their faces are projected onto the screens. Peter openly looking at her and Michelle blatantly ignoring him is seen by the entire arena.

“Oh, shit,” she hears Brad whisper.

“Shit,” Michelle echoes under her breath.

In this moment, after about an hour of avoiding eye contact, she finally lets her eyes meet Peter’s. Instantly, she's reminded of why she avoided them in the first place. At the sight of her face, his own breaks out into one of his god awful grins. And even though she’s on a date with another guy, and this is awkward as hell, Michelle can’t help it. When Peter smiles, she smiles. What kind of sick joke is that?

_It led me to a miracle._

“Hi.” She greets him with a smile, silently praying that the camera doesn’t catch how her face is turning pink.

“Can’t believe it took a Kiss Cam for you to acknowledge my existence.”

Michelle narrows her eyes at him, but all he does is look at her lips.

It’s just a kiss, she tells herself. It’s just a kiss with your best friend, who you’re madly in love with. It’s _nothing._

_I am feeling one thing, your lips on my lips._

He closes his eyes and leans in. Michelle holds her breath and mirrors him. 

It’s not nothing.

_That's a merry, merry Christmas._

It’s everything she’s ever wanted. 

Peter plants his lips against hers with a soothing pressure she had felt two years ago on the skin of her back, and it's weird, because it feels like she can breathe easier. Kisses shouldn’t work that way, but his does. She should have expected Peter to be different; to give anyone she has ever kissed before a run for their money.

This time, Peter doesn’t smell like vanilla shampoo. He smells like peppermint and other sugary things, and it strangely reminds her of Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and every day after until the New Year. And his breath isn't minty fresh like it was back at that resort. Instead, it’s sweet, _too_ sweet, as he gives her a brief taste of his hot chocolate at the corner of his mouth. She finds herself smiling into the kiss.

It’s over before it started. Not even five seconds later, he leans away, leaving a tingling feeling to linger on her lips. Her eyes grow big, yet his eyes are filled with questions Michelle doesn’t know the answers to.

The crowd is cheering, Brad is whistling, and Gwen is beaming behind Peter. It scares her how much she wants to kiss him again.

Peter might be thinking the same thing, because suddenly, they tear their eyes from each other. The cup between her palms has turned cold, and she realizes that so has she. Cold and curious, is what she is. 

What is it like to truly kiss Peter Parker?

None of them talk for the rest of the game, only vague comments from Gwen and sporadic uproars from Brad every time something mildly upsetting happens. 

It’s not until there are sixty seconds left on the clock when the barrier between Peter and Michelle starts to crack. 

The game is tied. Both teams are practically equals, a fact well known to the tri-state area. But only one will claim victory. Only one can win. Madison Square Garden is holding its breath.

Time slows as the Devils and the Rangers fly across the ice, battling with their sticks, fighting for the puck. The people rise to their feet and crane their necks, trying to get a better look at the biggest game of the season. Gwen’s leg is bouncing, Brad’s knuckles turn white as he grips the railing in front of them. Michelle can practically hear each chant and prayer when the puck breaks loose and skids towards the net. 

Number 9 from the Rangers catches up. Their stick hits the edges, alternating the puck side to side, tossing it laterally as they race to the goal line, barreling straight for the gold. The people are cheering, some are screeching, and they’re lashing out their arms as Number 17 from the Devils follows closely behind. 

It’s there. It’s almost there. The suspense is to _die_ for. Michelle subconsciously reaches to her left and finds Peter’s hand.

The clock is running out. The time is ticking, quickly but slowly, defying the laws of physics with how the remaining five seconds seem to drag; longer than it had when she and Peter kissed.

Until finally, one more hit sends the puck skidding into the net. Time comes to a standstill. The clock has run out. It’s as if the whole world stops spinning.

For a split second, it’s silent. 

And then, noise.

What a time to be young and alive in New York City. _Screw_ the New Jersey Devils.

The crowd is deafening as it erupts into high pitched whistles and thunderous applause; the screams of the fans make her ears ring. Flashes of red, white and blue make her head dizzy, disorienting her in the best possible way. 

Peter’s steady hand in hers brings her back down when he squeezes it three times.

It’s tradition for the Rangers to win and for Peter and MJ to experience this exhilarating high together. And yet Michelle can’t help but notice that nothing about this night is traditional. And that maybe every night that follows will never be the same.

Michelle laughs in glee and looks to Peter. The ability for the whole world to fade around them is lost upon her. It makes no sense how everyone else seems to go quiet. And it’s just Peter and Michelle. Michelle and Peter.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s already looking at her. 

“I love you,” he says faintly. 

No one can hear him.

But Peter Parker is Michelle’s best friend.

She always hears him.

“What did you just say to me?”

The L word is anything but new between the two best friends. They say it in passing between classes on campus and casually over the phone late at night as the two of them refuse to be the first one to hang up. It’s in their every hello and goodbye.

This, however, sounds different.

“I love you, MJ,” he says a bit louder. He’s not speaking like her best friend anymore. “I have for a while now.”

The fans around them never stop cheering. Confetti is raining from up above, and the music is blaring and vibrating throughout the arena. The camera crew, the announcers, Peter and Michelle’s respective dates, and the entire New York City population are overwhelmed and spinning in a whirlwind of joy and victory from their golden team. But they are totally oblivious to how Michelle’s world isn’t spinning anymore.

“MJ?” she hears Peter ask as she turns to stare, dumbfound, at the winning team: screaming, jumping, wearing the most blinding smiles on their faces. 

She feels like she’s down there with them. 

Michelle has always known what winning feels like. 

A smile slowly finds its way onto her face just as a tear slips free from her eye. Brad notices and asks her what's wrong, but Michelle can’t hear him. She only hears Peter.

“I love you more,” she answers, and then she turns to her best friend, the boy she’s been in love with since she was eight years old, and realizes that maybe he’s been in love with her ever since too.

“Jesus, MJ,” he scoffs. “This isn’t a competition.”

Her smile is fond. “I know it’s not.”

He leans in, like maybe he’s going to kiss her. 

“But in the event that it is, I love you most.”

A laugh escapes her unexpectedly, and instinct has her clamping a hand over her mouth. 

How can it be? How can everything be changing yet staying steady all at once? 

“God, you’re so annoying,” Michelle tells him.

Peter knocks her knee with his. “You love me for it though.”

“I do.” She nods excitedly. “I really do.”

He kisses her again. For real this time. No Kiss Cam in sight. Definitely longer than five seconds. Michelle discovers what it’s like to truly kiss Peter Parker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you again after Christmas :)


	4. We Committed

**FOUR**

**_Twenty Four Years Old_ **

_  
On the fourth **we committed**  
Any time, he could get it  
He’s the real one, I know it  
_

Peter Parker will always be Michelle’s best friend. 

But he is her boyfriend now too, and that makes all the difference.

Michelle Jones is twenty-three years old when she accepts that skiing just isn’t her thing, telling Peter that the ski resort is absolutely off-limits for a cute winter activity. And it is that same year when Peter discovers the ice-skating rink downtown; a modest one that is never quite as busy as the Rockefeller. He takes her there, one evening in December. 

Michelle falls in love with it at first sight. 

Ice skating winds up being her favorite activity. And it’s not because she now holds a solid excuse to never let go of Peter’s hand. Or because of how his eyes twinkle under the rink lights when he looks at her, like maybe she’s magic.

It’s her favorite, because the ice rink is smooth and level, allowing her to easily keep her balance, and leading her to finally know what it’s like to beat her superhero best friend slash boyfriend. 

Because Peter Parker is twenty-three years old when he falls on his ass _twenty-three times._

“I don’t get it. You’re Spider-Man. You battle villains and save the world like clockwork.” Michelle glides beside Peter as he teeters and grips the railing. “This should be a piece of cake.”

“Cake?” He perks up. “Cake sounds nice. You wanna get cake? You love cake.” 

She frowns. “We’re staying, Peter. Please?”

Peter scans the span of the vast ice and groans. But when Michelle reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers, he relaxes and lets her guide him all the way around; catching him if he slips, steadying him before he can fall.

“You’re really enjoying this, huh?” 

She beams as he leans into her side. “You have _no_ idea.”

“You like seeing me on my ass?” he innocently asks, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold air.

Michelle side-eyes him and smirks. _“Hell yeah.”_

It’s silent for a moment; nothing but the sound of skates skidding past them, gleeful children’s laughter, and Christmas music, before Peter snorts.

“Oh, wait!” he exclaims, his sudden excitement almost causing him to topple over. “I _just_ got that.”

Peter clings to her, and Michelle holds him up, realizing the irony of it all. There’s nothing Peter Parker can’t handle. Bloodthirsty aliens? They’re easy. Menacing arms-dealers? Been there, done that. Sadistic illusionists? Well, okay. Quentin Beck fooled him at first, but it all worked out in the end. 

But _ice-skating?_

Sometimes there are battles that just can’t be won.

“You hate this,” Michelle points out his pale face and fidgeting fingers. And although she finds some humor in watching the man behind the mask struggle to stay upright, she feels bad. “You don’t have to ice-skate if you don’t want to.”

His hold on her arm tightens as they venture further away from the railing. 

“I could never hate this,” Peter answers with a shrug and an uneasy smile. “Anything you love, I could never hate.” 

“That’s not true.” She teasingly narrows her eyes at him. “You hate sushi. And I _love_ sushi.”

The hat pulled over his ears, the gloves on his hands, and the scarf around his neck hide Michelle’s favorite parts of his skin. So she can’t see it when his ears burn red or feel when his palms start to sweat. And when he scratches his neck, she assumes it’s only because of the itchy cloth.

Peter mumbles under his breath, “Yeah, but if you ever wanted to serve sushi at our wedding, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

She hears him, kind of, but wants to be sure. 

“What was that?”

He whips his head to look at her, and his eyes grow wide. “What was what?”

“That.” Michelle points to him. “You said something just now.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

She tilts her head. “I’m pretty sure you did.”

“No.” Peter furiously shakes his head and averts his eyes. “I don’t think I did.”

Michelle sighs. “Whatever,” she mutters. “I thought you said something about a wedding.” She pauses for a second before clarifying, “Our wedding.”

They look at each other, then. Like the idea of getting married and having a wedding and spending the rest of their lives together is something that they both look forward to discussing; maybe even set in motion, really soon.

Peter looks like he’s about to say something, and maybe he would have if he hadn’t leaned in a little too close. Because Peter can’t skate, and for some reason, Spider-Man is unsteady on the ice, so he loses his balance and flails forward.

It happens like it does in the movies, except the roles are switched, and the tables are completely turned. Peter’s hand nearly smacks Michelle’s face as his weight pushes her down. She falls backwards, pulling him with her; his scarf tickling her chin. Michelle lands with a gasp; he with a grunt, and the whole world turns upside down as he presses his body against hers and their faces become inches apart.

They stay there, unmoving, for a moment or two, just staring and lying there as the world keeps moving around them. 

“Oops,” Peter says, wide-eyed. From here, Michelle can see his nose turning pink.

She breaks first and bursts into giggles, Peter following suit. Neither of them know how long they stay there, laughing on that ice, but it’s long enough to make people stare and wonder just how in love the young couple are. 

Eventually, when their laughter dies and all that is left are the blinding smiles on their faces, Peter grabs the sides of her cheeks with his glove-covered hands and kisses her sweetly. And Michelle sighs, because, _finally_.

“What I was saying before.” Peter pulls away, Michelle chasing his lips when he does. “I meant that even though I may not love what you love, I do love _you._ ” 

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The ice is cold against her back, but something about this reminds her of three years ago, when they were lying next to her grandmother’s fireplace before he pretended to propose to her. 

“And anything that makes you happy… Anything that brings joy into your life.” Peter pauses to swiftly kiss her one more time. “I love those too.”

She bares her teeth, widening her smile for him. Michelle knows that Peter Parker is magic.

* * *

One year later, at twenty-four years old, Michelle regretfully suspects that the magic is wearing off when Peter starts acting strange around the holidays.

“You’re grabbing lunch with my dad?” she asks after Peter rolls out of her bed and announces he’s going out.

“Yeah,” Peter answers like this isn’t an out of the ordinary thing.

She gives him an incredulous look while pulling her shirt on. “Why though?”

“I hang out with your dad all the time.” He shrugs, buttoning up his coat. 

“Uh. No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter insists. He turns to her mirror and fixes his hair. “Does my hair look like _I just had sex with your daughter_ hair?”

“Doesn’t it always?” she answers and rolls her eyes before joining him; swiping her thumb with her tongue and patting down a loose strand. “Can I join your lunch? I’d like to see my dad.” 

She steps away once she’s confident that Peter looks decent. 

Peter turns to her, a look on his face suggesting that he wasn’t expecting her to ask. “Sorry, but no.” 

“No?” 

“No,” he repeats and clears his throat. 

Michelle narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“Because, this is a guys only lunch. It’s at a restaurant,” he pauses and avoids her eyes. “Exclusively for guys.”

She crosses her arms in disbelief. Peter has always been a terrible liar. “Like a gentleman’s club?”

“What?” He exclaims. “No-”

“This suspiciously sounds like a gentleman’s club.”

“Well, it’s not!” he protests.

Michelle huffs. “Then, why can’t I come?”

He scratches his neck and looks anywhere but at her. “Because, uh-”

“Because…” she prompts with raised eyebrows.

“Just because!” he blurts, before he leaves her apartment in a frenzy, Michelle pouting as she hears the door shut. 

* * *

Normally, she wouldn’t think much of his behavior. But fourteen days into December, she realizes that Peter keeps blowing off all of their dinners.

“You’re canceling on me _again?_ ” she sighs over the phone and looks longingly at the pizzeria’s menu on her fridge. 

“I’m sorry, Em. I’m swamped at work,” Peter says. Even through the phone, she can tell his mind is elsewhere. “We’ll order pizza another night.”

“You’ve been staying late at work all week.” Michelle counts the cash in her wallet and sulks. “You okay? Pressing deadlines?”

There’s a pause that Michelle tries not to read into. Instead, she pads off to her bedroom and paces by her desk, possibly wearing a hole into the carpet.

Peter answers, “Yeah, something like that.”

She hears several voices murmuring on her boyfriend’s end and frowns as she anticipates his goodbye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Michelle beats him to it. 

He hums, “Sure,” a little distant and distracted, but immediately adds, “I love you, Em.”

She forces a smile even though he cannot see it.

“I love you back.”

* * *

The clock reads a quarter to ten when Michelle is reminded of why she should never go to Betty Brant if she is seeking comfort and reassurance.

“Maybe he’s cheating,” Betty suggests as if that accusation wouldn’t make Michelle’s relationship crash and burn.

Michelle nearly chokes on her lo mein. “Betty!” 

Rule number one: Always trust Betty to show up with Chinese take-out after you vent to her over the phone. 

“What?” Her friend shrugs while she stuffs her mouth with a spring roll. “It’s just a thought.”

Rule number two: Never trust Betty to provide any consoling words whatsoever.

“Here’s a thought,” Michelle counters and shoots her a glare. “Stop having thoughts!” she cries before shoveling down the rest of her food. “Stop thinking,” she adds, muffled.

“MJ.” Betty stops to look her friend in the eye. “This is Peter, we’re talking about. He’s your best friend who is madly in love with you.” There’s a glint in her eyes that reminds Michelle too much of Peter’s. “Chances are, he’s not cheating.”

She should feel at ease, because _that makes sense_ , but Michelle stops herself once she catches a fleeting twitch of Betty’s nose paired with her shiny eyes. 

Michelle knows _that look_. She has known it since high school. 

The senior superlatives didn’t crown Betty Brant for Most Likely to Join the CIA for nothing. _She_ is the ultimate insider; she is _all-knowing._

“You know something,” Michelle claims and lets the noodles fall from her chopsticks and plop back into the oyster pail. She points her chopsticks in Betty’s direction. “You know something, and you’re not telling me.”

“I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such a thing,” Betty gasps half-heartedly. 

“ _Betty._ ” She scowls, but her friend merely shrugs and continues eating her dinner.

“Okay, fine. I can tell you, for a fact, that he’s not cheating.”

Michelle narrows her eyes. “I mean, tell me something that I _don’t_ know.”

“Sorry, MJ.” Betty winks with a smirk that kind of scares her. “It’s a secret.”

* * *

A week before Christmas Eve, Michelle lets herself into Peter’s apartment, after a snow storm had decided to spontaneously grace New York City with its presence. Her apartment is about a mile away from the train, but Peter’s, thankfully, is only one block down. 

Michelle expects to find an empty apartment as she drops a bag of take-out onto his kitchen counter and makes herself at home. However, soft murmurs coming from his bedroom catch her attention.

She freezes, just for a moment.

Then, she slinks towards his door and strains her ears as she inches closer. 

_“How can you be so sure she won’t find it?”_ Michelle thinks she hears Ned.

 _“I have my ways,”_ is Peter’s faint voice.

She backs away with a scowl painted on her face. There’s no way in hell her best friend since forever would be good at hiding things from _her._

“Honey, I’m home!” she yells.

Michelle hears a yelp and a thud; hushed, hurried whispers filtering from underneath his door. 

“MJ?” The door swings open, revealing Peter with dishevelled hair and another one of her sweatshirts. He hastily closes it behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I just got off from work.” She notices a shadow moving from underneath his door. “And there’s a storm.”

He’s out of breath. “Oh.”

Oh? _Interesting._ “I’m glad you’re here. You usually never are anymore.” Michelle clears her throat. “So can I stay here tonight?”

Peter looks like he wants to deny her. “Uh-”

“Unless, you have company.” Michelle steps closer, and it’s obvious that Peter is starting to panic. “Who’s behind the door, Peter?” 

“No one,” he answers too quickly.

“So if I were to open that door.” She points at the white painted wood, wagging her finger with a quirk of her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t find anyone behind it?”

“It’s really a mess in there. I wouldn’t-”

“What are you hiding, Peter?” Michelle stops right in front of him, feeling a little upset that she’s no longer taller than him like she was in high school. “A gift, perhaps? I thought I heard Ned in there.”

He freezes, and for a second, Michelle lets herself believe that she caught him in a lie. But then, Peter’s eyes widen as he leans in like he’s about to tell her a secret, whispering carefully and feigning fear, “You hear his voice too?” 

At that, Michelle groans and lightly smacks his arms. He laughs.

“Okay. I’ll open the door,” he yields, eagerly nodding his head. “I’m going now.” He points at the white painted wood. “To open the door. Because that’s what we do with doors. We open them.” He hovers his hand over the doorknob. “In another life, I’d love to be a doorman.”

“That’s funny,” Michelle remarks. “You’d be a terrible one.”

“I’m opening the door in three, two-”

“ _Peter._ ”

“And it’s open!” He twists the knob and pushes on the door, dazzling his hands at the empty room. 

She stares blankly at his flowing curtains and white-coated duvet. 

“So is your window.”

A strong gust of wind howls and sends a flurry of snowflakes swirling into the room.

Peter shrugs like his duvet isn’t currently getting dusted with snow. 

“It was getting hot in here.”

Michelle purses her lips at the ridiculous sight before her. 

“Peter, there’s snow on your bed.”

“Right.” He tightly smiles. “I like it better that way.” 

She huffs and swings his door shut, having learned the hard way when it is best to refrain from questioning the questionable things that come out of her best friend’s mouth. 

“Let me guess. Are you surprising me with a bunch of new novels? Because last year, you got me a bunch of old novels. I have some suggestions and complaints.”

Peter looks like he might be offended. “Uh, no-”

“I’d be providing feedback. Or constructive criticism, if you will,” Michelle continues.

“You’re hilarious.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll hold back on the complaints. But suggestions are fine? I have an entire wishlist on my phone.” Michelle backs away to find her purse on the sofa. She retrieves and unlocks it. “I can send it to you right now.”

His phone dings with a message, and Peter’s face pales when he sees her long list. 

“Wait.” He squints at his screen, making sure he’s reading it correctly. “You want a Roomba?”

 _I’ve never wanted anything more,_ she nearly says. However, Michelle merely shrugs and continues tapping away at her phone. “Yeah. I _hate_ vacuuming.”

Peter concedes and pockets his phone. “Fine. I can get you a Roomba.” Michelle smiles to herself, and he continues, “But just you know, I’m not hiding anything.”

He holds his palms out like an empty-handed open book.

“Yeah,” she answers, unconvinced. “Sure, you aren’t.” 

* * *

By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, Michelle has already perused every shopping catalogue on his desk, browsed through their shared Amazon purchase history, and tried every key on Peter’s chain to try and open his suspiciously locked sock drawer. 

“Find anything you like?” Peter pops his head into his bedroom while her dog, Parker, is sniffing around in his closet and Michelle is bent underneath his desk with a flashlight in hand.

He surprises her, causing her to bang her head against the wood. “Ow!”

“Ouch,” Peter winces. “You want some ice for that?”

Michelle’s ice cold glare doesn’t phase him when she stands up to her full height. She lifts her chin. 

“I noticed you unlocked your sock drawer this morning.” 

“Really?” Peter scratches his chin. “Has it been locked all this time? Huh. I never noticed.”

Parker creeps out from behind his closet doors. Immediately, the dog approaches and rubs his head on Peter’s leg in greeting.

“Hey, buddy.” Peter squats down to caress the dog’s head.

Michelle dramatically sighs and falls onto his bed as Parker shows more love to her boyfriend than he had ever shown to her, feeling exhausted and utterly defeated. 

“Nothing was in there besides your mismatched socks.”

“Good thing it was locked.” Peter looks up and cheekily smiles at her. “I can’t have anybody stealing my precious mismatched socks.”

Michelle bites her lip and hides her face in his pillow. Maybe she was wrong, and the magic was never wearing off. Maybe Peter Parker just has a good way of hiding it.

She abruptly sits up. “You’ve never been good at keeping secrets,” she muses, disappointed yet impressed. “So why are you so good at keeping this one?”

Michelle studies him; tries to figure Peter out as he stands up and takes his time scanning the room, deep in thought and a faint smile on lips. His eyes land on her. And the way he gazes at her shouldn’t make her breath hitch, but it does.

“I’ve had a lot of help,” is all he tells her.

“Ned? Betty? Is my dad in on this too?” she catches on quickly. “Is that why you had lunch with him that one time?

Peter hangs his head and softly laughs to himself. He should have expected for his ridiculously smart girlfriend to start connecting the dots. 

“Let’s go out tonight,” he suggests instead of answering her question. “See the city. Freeze our asses off.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve.” She looks to him with confusion. “And I have gifts to wrap and cookies to bake, and our families are expecting us for dinner at seven.”

There’s a glint in his eye as he bites back a smile, as if he’s trying not to give himself away. “I think they’ll be okay if we skip dinner.” 

“Why? Did you ask them that?”

His signature smug smile makes its return, and Michelle frowns at the sight. Peter Parker plus a smug smile always equals a very terrible idea.

“Something like that.”

* * *

Even late at night, the city is jam-packed with tourists and New Yorkers alike, most especially that shiny Midtown Manhattan, home to Times Square, Broadway, and the beloved Rockefeller Center. 

“Here it is!” Peter gestures to Manhattan’s staple landmark of the season. “The _only_ tree in New York City!”

Michelle stares at the Rockefeller Center Tree and studies it. After a moment, she asks him, “Did you know that in 1979, someone climbed that tree and made it all the way to the top?” 

He smiles at her. “I love it when you tell me things I don’t know.” 

She blushes, but she’ll blame it on the cold winter air if he ever asks why. Looking down, Michelle wiggles her toes inside her ice skates before examining the blades at their soles. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she has to ask before she leads him to severe injury. The rink is crowded, _too_ crowded in Michelle’s opinion. Sometimes crowds can be good, but other times, they can be very bad. 

The ice rink is one of those bad times. 

“Have a little faith, Em,” he assures her despite the familiar nervous fidgeting of his fingers. “Do you doubt me?”

Michelle hesitates before answering, because when it comes to Peter and ice skates, she has zero faith.

“I admit,” she says. “I have my doubts.”

But somehow, someway, maybe by some Christmas miracle, he surprises her. He glides off and away around the ice, letting the flow of the rink guide him. It’s almost like he’s a different person, and the past stumbling Peter Parker is all but forgotten.

She watches him, in awe, and knows in her heart that it’s impossible for someone to look this pretty, this _gorgeous_ , when the surrounding Christmas lights start to blur. All she can do is hold his hand and gape.

When he eventually lets go of her hand, no longer needing an anchor to keep him from falling over, she has to ask.

“Peter, the last time we skated was two months ago. And back then, you could barely let go of the railing.” Michelle bites her lip as she continues to study him, the knitting of his eyebrows an evidence of his concentration as he skates. “How are you so good at this right now?”

Peter keeps his arms a small distance from his body and is a little unsteady, at times. But he has found his balance on the ice; something he barely had before.

“A lot can change in two months,” he counters, smiling like he knows something she doesn’t.

“Oh, yeah?” Michelle raises an eyebrow and thinks about this big secret he’s been keeping from her. “Like what?”

He pulls her towards the very center of the rink. 

“What if I told you I’ve been taking lessons?” When they reach the middle, Peter shoves his hands into his pockets. “So I could be prepared for this exact moment?”

They skid to a stop as the rink spins around them, the other skaters continuing to orbit the couple. Michelle wonders if his newfound ability to ice skate is his big surprise.

“Peter,” Michelle shakes her head, Peter shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “What are you talking about?”

Did he learn how to skate for _her?_

“I wasn’t working late,” he explains. It’s obvious that he’s nervous with the way he’s twiddling with his thumbs. “I was going to the rink and taking lessons so I could impress you.”

“ _Dude,_ ” she teases, nudging his stomach with her elbow and trying to put him at ease. “You don’t need to impress me. I saw you on your ass, and yet, I still love you.”

She expects him to roll his eyes, maybe even let out a laugh. Instead, however, Peter reaches for her left hand and slides off her glove. Michelle stills as he starts to play with the ring on her finger. 

He’s not joking like a best friend right now.

“I wanted to ask you a question.” He twists the ring and slides it up and down, watching her eyes as she stares at him. “And I couldn’t have myself falling on my ass if I wanted to ask it. The right way.”

She peers at him playing with her ring and asks, even if she might know the answer, “What question, Peter?”

There are probably a hundred something people in this rink tonight; the time close to nine o’clock. To her right, there’s a little girl just learning how to skate, gripping her parents’ hands, wearing a puffy, pink coat. On her left is a group of friends, probably high schoolers, skating in circles and joking with such ease, as if they could probably do it with their eyes closed. 

Having Peter in her life feels like that: The start of something new yet familiar, all at once. 

“Four years ago, I gave you a ring.” Peter lightly taps on the black dahlia.

Michelle feels the chilly wind at her ears when she agrees, “Yes, you did.”

The black dahlia acted as a promise ring, once upon a time, at some guy’s wedding, he who shall not be named. But standing here, in New York City, ice at their feet and Peter’s glimmering eyes staring back at her, Michelle realizes that the promise had always been real.

Peter pulls something from the inside of his jacket, and when he gets down on one knee with a tiny velvet box in his hands, Michelle is not surprised. 

One thing is certain.

“Is it okay if I give you another one?” he asks.

Peter Parker looks like the rest of her life. 

Michelle’s already crying, because _of course_ , she is. Michelle Jones is a crier, among many things.

She sniffles. “It depends. What’s your motive?”

There are so many ways he could have answered.

To make you _my wife_ , to make you _mine_ , to make _me_ the happiest man in the world.

“I want to be yours,” he says instead, opening the box to reveal a shiny diamond ring with white gold and a halo setting. “Your fiancé, then your husband. But always your best friend, if you’ll have me.”

She nods her head before he can even ask.

“I'll marry you,” Michelle exhales.

Peter slightly pulls the ring away and gives her a look. “Wait, I haven’t even asked the final-”

“I don’t care.” She wipes at her tears. “The answer is still yes.”

He stands up quickly and slides the ring onto her finger, joining the first one, and Michelle leans in with pursed lips, ready to kiss him in front of the tree, on the eve of Christmas Day, under the prettiest of lights. 

“Michelle Jones,” Peter addresses her with a laugh, stopping her lips before they meet his. At the sound of his voice saying her name, Michelle’s face breaks out into a smile. The tears won’t stop streaming down her face, but she doesn’t care. She can’t bring herself to care. Not when the man she is madly in love with is declaring that he wants to be _hers._

“Will you marry me?” 

She can’t wait any longer. 

Michelle pulls his face close and kisses him in the middle of New York City. There are strangers surrounding them, providing applause and a few whistles, but she’s sure the only sound Peter can focus on is her rapid heartbeat as he places his fingers at the pulse on her neck. 

“Sorry.” She pulls away eventually, Peter resting his forehead against hers. “Of course. Of course, I will marry you. _Of course._ ”

Someone asks the couple if they’d like their picture taken, and Michelle and Peter pose in front of the seventy foot something tree with her hand held up next to her face, flashing that diamond ring. And afterwards, many strangers approach with congratulations and best wishes, greeting the two a happy holidays and many more years of love to come. 

“Hey,” Peter whispers in her ear, when they’re finally alone. “Look up.”

Michelle squints at the level above them, scanning the crowd on the pavement. “What am I looking for?”

He points to the left corner. “Them.”

Her heart flutters at the sight of them, the people she loves the most. Because there at the railing, are her parents and her sister, joined by Aunt May, Ned and Betty. They are pretty hard to miss, Michelle realizes, with the way they’re all waving their arms in the air, nearly knocking out a poor old lady who made the mistake of standing a little too close. And even though she can’t hear them from this distance, she is pretty sure they’re screaming. 

It feels surreal, that even though Peter pulled her away from their families for tonight, he still made sure he brought them right back. 

“This was your big secret?” Michelle teases him.

Peter shyly smiles. “Yeah. Were you surprised?”

She waves to her family, wondering why she ever doubted the magic that is Peter Parker.

“No,” she answers. “Not even a little bit.”

* * *

Michelle feels it in her _gut_ that they were forgetting to tell someone.

She just couldn’t quite put her finger on as to _who_.

It’s the eve of New Year’s Eve, when Michelle finally figures it out.

The elevator in Peter’s apartment had broken down, so when they returned with six bags of groceries for tomorrow’s party, the two were upset to hear that they had to take the stairs.

Once they reached his landing, Michelle jams the key into the lock before bumping the door open with her hip.

As it opens, Peter yells, “Wait, MJ, no!” and lunges forward. 

His grocery bags crash to the floor as he flails for the doorknob. But it’s already too late. The door flies open at full force into his apartment and immediately bangs against the wall behind it. 

In the neighboring room, a shattering crash is heard. Peter squeaks like he’s in pain.

“Oh, not again!” he whines.

The sound of stomping feet draws near, and Michelle shoots Peter an apologetic look, both bracing themselves to face who’s coming.

“Peter, I’m so sorry-” she whispers rapidly.

Flash Thompson bursts into the hallway, emerging from his apartment, and his glaring eyes immediately find Peter’s. Michelle holds her breath. Peter looks like he might piss his pants. 

“You’re dead, Parker.”

“I can explain-”

“You broke the frame of my Monet!”

Moving into the apartment next to Flash Thompson’s was probably not Peter’s brightest idea. But the location was convenient, and rent is cheap. Still, neither of them were happy about being neighbors. 

“To be fair.” Peter holds his hands out in an attempt to stop Flash from getting any closer. “It’s a fake Monet.”

“This is the third time, Parker!”

Michelle knits her eyebrows and stares at Peter with wide eyes. “You broke his Monet two times?” 

“Now it’s three times!” Flash interjects.

Peter stammers, trying to come up with an explanation. His eyes flit around his immediate surroundings, before landing on Michelle. She glares, already anticipating that he’s about to throw her under the bus. 

“It was my fiancée’s fault!” Peter claims, pointing a finger at her in accusation.

She gasps. “Peter!”

“I don’t care whose fault it is!” Flash takes a long step forward, and Peter hits his back against the doorway. “There’s no excuse. This has happened before, and you’ve had _months_ to get a new door stop—Wait.”

Flash pauses and draws back. In an instant, it’s as if he forgets all about his broken Monet as he looks between Peter and Michelle, who are both sheepish and out of breath, cheeks tinted pink from the winter air. 

“Did you just say _fiancée?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry for that last bit. i had to include flash. i love him way too much <3
> 
> i'll probably have the last two chapters posted around new years, maybe even a little bit after. 
> 
> (don't quote me on that though. i do be procrastinating.)
> 
> also, can you tell that i got a roomba for christmas and that i'm very excited about it? !!!


	5. All I Wanted Was Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also known as a mini crash course on what it's like to drive in new jersey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** two new yorkers are trying to drive in jersey. keep your distance.
> 
> also these next two chapters are unedited, so bear with me please.

**FIVE**

**_Twenty Six Years Old_ **

_  
On the fifth day of Christmas  
You asked me what's on my wishlist and I told you  
**All I wanted was forever** with my boo  
_

Flash Thompson never did forgive Peter and Michelle for breaking his Monet.

However, his wedding gift to them was a cute little door stop that was eventually screwed onto the white moulding behind their bedroom door, up in their new house, somewhere in Jersey, ironically. 

It had to happen eventually: moving out of the city, settling down in a more convenient, less expensive neighborhood. Getting married came with a price, especially a wedding of their size. 

What else is to be expected of Peter and Michelle? A couple of big “the sky’s the limit” dreamers? Extravagant three tier cakes, a shiny venue with tall ceilings and glistening chandeliers, a velvet tux and a mermaid wedding dress, and a guest list that rolled out in several feet. 

They got married last December, before Christmas, during the third week of Advent when the pink candle is lit and flickering. A handful of mistletoe, here and there. Big ribbons and bows at the back of each guest’s chair. Light snowfall, appearing late in the evening, as the party is beginning to die down.

Peter and Michelle tied the knot where it all started: in Queens, New York, a few blocks down from where the ice cream truck had been at eight years old, when Michelle stole his ice cream and Peter stole her heart. The _irony._

Life had come full circle, in it’s own special way, once Peter and Michelle recited their vows and promised each other the grand Always, the profound Forever, the unconditional For Better or For Worse, In Sickness and In Health. 

She’s not sure who cried more, Peter or her father, as she walked down the aisle. When they arrived at the altar, her father almost did not want to release her arm. But one look at Peter’s glistening eyes, tear stained face, and at his whole body glowing with everlasting love for his eldest daughter, and Mr. Jones let her go.

Michelle Jones became Michelle Jones Parker soon after. 

Fast forward, one year later, the happy couple move in together, into a little old house in New Jersey.

Everything is different now.

They drive more, that’s for sure; both of them lucky enough to afford a car. Although there’s the NJ Transit, anyone who wants to preserve their sanity and has at least half a will to live would rather inch their way down south on Route 1 during rush hour. 

Getting used to the car in lieu of the train comes with its ups and downs. It’s faster to get from point A to point B, but New Jersey is known for its dense population and the terrible New Jersey Turnpike and inconsiderate drivers who don’t know how to share the road _at all._

It’s even worse during the holidays.

“Stupid ass motherfu-”

Michelle lays on the horn, drowning out the rest of her cruel, cursed words. Peter cowers in the passenger seat and prays for his life. Black Friday shopping really brings out the worst in people.

“MJ, maybe you should just-”

“God! I’m going to _kill_ you!” she screams as someone cuts her off in the left lane.

“Oh, wow,” Peter whispers to himself. “She really said that.”

The drive to the Garden State Plaza is horrendous, traffic pouring in from the north and south, east and west. But when they get there, nothing is more stressful than finding a parking spot. The cars are bumper to bumper, blood pressures are high as shoppers fight for an available space, and Michelle unfortunately inherited the road rage from her mother. Mrs. Jones taught her daughters to show _no mercy._

They manage to get a parking spot in under ten minutes, mostly due to Michelle’s aggressive hand at the wheel and Peter’s ability to sense things that she is still unable to fully understand. She backs into the space like a champ, while an impatient driver honks at them, and Peter doesn’t let himself relax until she shifts the gear to park.

Michelle takes a deep breath and cracks her knuckles. “Alright, Peter. It’s game time.”

“Game time,” Peter echoes.

“We’re here to fight.”

“We’re fighters.”

She grips his shoulders and forces him to face her. “Show no mercy.”

He puffs out his chest. “Absolutely none.”

“Remember that thing society taught us?” Michelle flashes a bright smile which Peter immediately mirrors at the sight of. “How the holidays are about spreading love and cheer and generosity?”

Peter nods. “I remember that thing.” 

He blinks, and Michelle’s face drops, her smile vanishing into thin air. “Well, we’re throwing all of that out the window.”

“Oh?” He furrows his eyebrows. “We are?” 

“Because if there’s only one left of that goddamn limited edition Captain Marvel doll, and there’s a face-off between you and some middle-aged mother,” she clenches a fist, “You better be prepared to hurt someone.”

“MJ, I don’t think-”

“That mother would have to pry that doll from your cold, dead body, if she really wanted it,” Michelle says as she expressively gestures with her hands.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” 

“It’s for my sister, Peter,” Michelle pleads with wild eyes. “I’m in charge of her gift from Santa this year, and this doll is at the top of her wishlist. And if Santa gets this for her, maybe Maya will forget that she doesn’t love her big sister anymore and forgives her for moving away.”

Peter softens, because, like Michelle, he’s always had a soft spot for her little sister.

“Em, we just saw her last night for Thanksgiving. She definitely still loves you. And plus, New York is only a train ride away.”

Michelle releases her hold on him and sits back into her seat.

She never expected it to bother her this much, but New Jersey is so different. It feels strange, living here, especially in a town near the coastline, next to Staten Island. It’s so wannabe-New-York-City that it drives her mad. And the drivers sucks, Interstate 95 sucks, and not being able to see her family as often really _sucks._

A grave look sets onto her face as she unlocks the car door, pulling the hood down to her forehead as she braces herself for the hectic holiday shopping ahead of them.

“We’re getting that doll, Peter.”

* * *

_One Week Before_

When they had first moved into their new home, a one story, three bedroom house with hardwood flooring, located smack dab in the middle of Main Street, Michelle Jones was bubbling with excitement.

Her little sister, Maya, on the other hand, was feeling quite the opposite.

Peter and Michelle finished moving in the week before Thanksgiving. Her father had been helping Peter install their new security system, Aunt May was holding up tile samples in their bathrooms, and Michelle’s mother was changing the locks on all of the doors. So everything was pretty mundane when it all happened, when Maya crushed and broke Michelle’s heart.

“Why are you leaving me, Elle?”

Michelle had been sorting through a box of all of her books, separating those for leisure from those for research, when she paused at her sister’s question.

“Oh, Maya, I’m not leaving you.” She shakes her head and abandons her books, patting the floor beside her to have Maya sit down. “Peter and I are just moving out of the city.”

Maya’s brown eyes are big and sad. “But why?”

Chewing on her lip, Michelle considers her next words very carefully. “Because it’s cheaper to live in New Jersey. And Peter and I work here anyway.”

Her sister lowers herself to the floor and curls up into Michelle’s side. She watches as Maya’s curious eyes scan the large room, and Michelle follows and tries to imagine what those brown eyes might be seeing.

Over by the left wall, Michelle envisions a sofa by the fireplace. Maybe a loveseat too. She wants a rug, much like her grandmother’s, with a similar intricate print that rests at the sofa’s feet. Garland and tinsel, a few stockings and ribbon will sit upon the ledge above the fireplace; pictures hanging about its walls. And beside the window, there will be a tall Christmas tree; a live evergreen decorated with vibrant LED lights and ornaments of every shape and color. 

The other half of the room, towards the kitchen, will be the dining room; a long mahogany table with several Parson chairs, enough to seat both of their families and all of their friends. Peter wants a tiered crystal chandelier to hang above and in the corner, a cabinet for all of their wine bottles and wine glasses. They would have big curtains and drapes, as well; fine china, and candles at several levels for a centerpiece. 

Their home would be beautiful. 

And it would be _theirs_.

However, Michelle should have known her little sister would not envision any of that.

“So this is your new home?” Maya frowns.

Michelle’s smile is eager, wanting her sister to experience the same excitement she has. “Yeah, that’s right. Do you like it?”

The thing is, what really is there for Maya to like? Maya doesn’t envision tinsel and loveseats or mahogany tables when she looks at a home. Crystal chandeliers and fine china would never cross her mind. Maya is someone who thinks of toys and food and things that make her laugh and smile, such as her _family_. She is only a kid, after all. Which is probably why she sees what most adults don’t.

“It’s empty,” is all she says.

It’s true. Nothing is unpacked, all of their boxes are scattered haphazardly around the house, their furniture are still in the stores, waiting to be bought, shipped, and delivered. There’s not much, for now. But with a little furnishing, some decorating, and a lot of rearranging, this little old house will be filled with things eventually.

“Oh, I know.” Michelle plays with Maya’s fingers. “But we’ll have the house finished before Christmas. We’ll buy the furniture, get a new fridge. Make the guest room. You could help pick out a rug? One like Grandma’s-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Maya shakes her head, cutting her off. She plays with the zipper of her sweatshirt and sighs. “I mean, your home is _empty._ ” 

Just then, her mother announces that they will be leaving shortly, as not to miss their train. And suddenly, Maya jumps to her feet, racing towards her mother, leaving her sister behind, alone on the floor. 

Michelle feels _empty_ , instantly. 

And she thinks she hears her heart shatter, but she’s not entirely sure. 

All the confirmation she needs is given when Peter turns his head, momentarily stopping whatever installation he and her father are doing. It’s with his eyes that he asks her if she’s okay. It is her small smile that tells him that she’s not. 

Twenty minutes later, Maya hugs them goodbye. Michelle’s heart hasn’t been the same ever since.

* * *

“What happened to showing no mercy?” Peter asks two hours later, once they return to the car, without the doll.

To be fair, the little girl who Michelle encountered had the biggest puppy dog eyes she has ever seen. It is one of her firm beliefs that eyes like those should be carefully studied and researched. And that they should also be _very_ illegal. 

“What happened to being ready to fight?” 

The little girl also had the curliest hair in pigtails and a pout that could make her melt, reminding Michelle too much of her younger sister.

“What happened to _game time?_ ”

“You didn’t see her, Peter!” Michelle cries as she opens the trunk, throwing in whatever gifts they had managed to buy. “I _had_ to let that girl buy the last doll. She kind of looked like Maya.”

Peter runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Those dolls are limited edition.”

She slams the trunk closed, irritated and angry at herself for turning so soft. “You think I don’t _know_ that?”

“Well, I was hoping you did!” he counters.

And _great_ , Michelle thinks. Black Friday just started, yet they’re already yelling at each other in a parking lot. 

Marriage is so much fun. 

“Because you wouldn’t let _me_ forget it!” Peter complains and starts for the driver’s seat.

Michelle trails behind him. “Let’s just go somewhere else.”

He abruptly spins around, holding up a hand to stop her. “What are you doing? I’m driving.”

She scoffs, “No way!” and she’s pretty sure that whoever is laying on the horn right now is so that she and Peter would stop arguing and just give up their parking spot already. “You’re a horrible driver, Peter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, like _you’re_ any better.”

She gasps, “You take that back!”

Metal jingles as he raises the car keys he had swiped from her jacket, taunting it in her face. Michelle frantically pats her now empty pockets and scowls as he hops into the car, behind the wheel, clicking his seatbelt.

“Not. A. Chance.”

* * *

They tried Jersey Gardens and Menlo Park; made their way down the Garden State Parkway and hit Freehold Raceway, before eventually finding themselves at Monmouth Mall. And by then, Michelle has to admit. Neither she nor Peter are amazing drivers.

No wonder New Jersey hates New Yorkers.

“Peter.” Michelle grits her teeth and grips the edge of her seat. “Peter, slow down.”

But Peter insists, “Em, I can make it.”

She tries to bite her tongue, she really does. But at the speed and recklessness with which he’s going, biting her tongue is the last thing she wants to do. 

“Peter, you’re too far, and the light’s already yellow!”

“No, it’s okay.” He’s practically _flooring_ it, at this point. “I have super speed.”

Unbelievable. She almost wants to bang her head against the dashboard. 

“Peter, you’re driving a _car_!”

The traffic light inconveniently turns red once they are only about seven feet from the intersection, causing Peter to slam on the breaks, skidding the vehicle to a stop. They come to a rest within six short seconds, and Michelle’s back leaves the seat only to meet the leather again almost immediately, fast and hard. It almost _hurts_ , but thank God for seatbelts. 

Michelle glares at her husband once she releases her breath.

“Are you trying to get us _killed?_ ” she cries out.

“I’m sorry!” Peter frowns, gripping the steering wheel. “I thought I could make it!”

Soon after, they park at their fifth mall of the day while the sun is setting and the air is chillier. Michelle shivers as she jumps out of the car and zips up her jacket, Peter noticing straight away. 

And even though their stress levels are at an all time high, having been at each other’s throats throughout the entire day, because driving on Black Friday brought out the worst in themselves, Peter still wraps an arm around Michelle’s shoulders and pulls her close. 

She relaxes. 

And sighs.

_To have and to hold for better or for worse._

They walk inside to shop for the final time that day.

* * *

Unfortunately, the doll isn’t there. 

They learn that the doll isn’t anywhere in the tri-state area, because it sold out within the first six hours of its debut. 

So when Peter and Michelle finally return home, she drags herself to their new sofa and sulks. Then, she cries. And then, she sulks some more. Michelle can feel Peter helplessly watching her from the kitchen while he prepares dinner, and she powers on her laptop to watch a movie that she can properly sulk and cry to.

“Hey, Em?” Peter asks her over spaghetti and meatballs served on paper plates. “We should go Christmas tree shopping tomorrow. Are you up for it?”

She hums as she pushes the pasta around with her fork; her appetite nonexistent.

“We could buy everything tomorrow. The lights, the ornaments.” Peter pours her another glass of water, and she downs it immediately. “What do you want as the tree-topper? Do you want a star?”

Michelle looks down at her unfinished food and mumbles incoherently.

Peter nods like he understands, and honestly, Michelle wouldn’t put it past him. Because he knows her better than anyone, and maybe he _does_ understand. Which is probably why he knows she could use the distraction.

“First thing in the morning, we’ll get a tree,” he says, standing up to collect their plates. “And then, we’ll spend the whole day buying decorations and putting everything up. How does that sound?”

His socks slightly slide along the tiles, Peter almost slipping on his way to the trash can. And although she’s all cried out and could probably sulk for days, she lightly laughs at that. 

It’s the little things that Peter does that make her feel better, like braiding her hair in the morning when her arms are tired or waking up earlier than he needs to so he can make her a cup of coffee before work.

Slipping, sliding socks is just another one on the list, and he doesn’t even know it. 

“Sounds great,” she replies, and she really means that. 

In the morning, they drive to a Christmas tree farm somewhere in central Jersey. And because they were born in Queens and raised in the city, neither of the two were prepared to witness the sight of a barn, animals, and way too much greenery. 

“Sometimes I forget New Jersey is called the _Garden_ State,” Michelle remarks as they tread lightly among the evergreens. 

Peter pauses at one of the trees, lowers his chin, and squeezes an eye shut, examining its height and texture from an awkward angle.

“Wait, _why_ is it called that?”

Michelle pushes Peter along, not approving of that one. “I think it’s because of its farms and its rural areas.”

“Oh.” Peter makes a face. “Weird.”

She looks at the next tree. Its branches oddly stick out, and its color is so close to gray, that Michelle shakes her head in disapproval. “I know, right? I don’t like this one either.”

“I was referring to farms and rural areas,” he corrects her. “But yeah, I agree. This tree is weird too.”

Peter crosses his arms and leans back; the scarf around him hiding his neck. He’s wearing her red flannel, the one she bought back in college, and a shiny golden band on the ring finger of his left hand. 

His hair is shorter now, the curls barely visible, and he looks older, more mature, like a man who went through too much in his life yet at the same time, not enough. 

A small smile creeps onto his face as his eyes scan the field of trees.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” he says as he turns to face her, catching her dreamy eyes as she stares.

Clearing her throat, she proceeds to look elsewhere, because even after all of these years, she hates giving Peter the satisfaction.

“Really, Em? You’re still pretending you were never staring?” he teases her. “Come on, we’re _married_.”

She hums to herself and begins to walk away, reaching her arm out to touch the trees at her fingertips.

“You weren’t subtle back then, and you’re not subtle now,” Peter tries again.

“Very funny,” she answers, rolling her eyes.

Peter saunters toward her, a little strut in his stride, and it’s all her fault, for staring at him and boosting his already inflated ego. And usually the glint that’s dancing in his eyes never fails to reel her in, but in that moment, Michelle sees something else, from the corner of her eye, that steals her attention in a heartbeat. 

A few feet away, a small family is gathered around a Christmas tree, brightly smiling and lightly laughing as the smallest girl, their youngest daughter, starts playing with a low branch, picking off handfuls of needles and throwing them in the air like confetti.

Another girl, a lot older, scoops her up in her arms and lifts her off the ground, causing the younger one to squeal and giggle, playfully kicking her legs in the air. The girl’s earmuffs almost slide off of her head. 

Michelle looks on longingly, for a brief moment, and subconsciously inches closer as the mother starts tickling the youngest one, squirming in the arms of who Michelle assumes is the older sister. And as they play, the father moves to chop down the tree, striking several times; the littlest daughter screaming delightfully as the evergreen starts to tip over.

“Hey,” Peter tries to get Michelle’s attention back. “I found the perfect one.”

She quickly averts her gaze, as if she’s been caught. 

“Do you like this one?”

Michelle barely spares a glance before answering, “Yeah.”

She doesn’t want to miss her family this much, especially so _soon_. Not now that she’s all grown up. Not now when she’s building a home with her husband. And not now when the rest of her life is just beginning. 

Not _now_.

But Michelle misses them, despite how much she doesn’t want to. And she thinks Peter knows this with the way he looks over at the family as they collectively drag the tree away.

“Let’s grab this tree and get out of here. Okay?” Peter asks before he swings at the tree before them with the ax. 

The tree falls in one swift motion, after his one quick swing; perks of having super strength and all that. Michelle focuses on the thud as it hits the ground and wills herself not to think about their empty one story, three bedroom house on Main Street.

She forces a smile. “Okay.”

* * *

If someone would have asked ten year old Michelle what her favorite day was, she would have told them it was the day Peter Parker came into her life.

However, when Michelle was sixteen years old, her answer would have been a lot different.

Because it was that same year when a little girl named Maya Jones was born.

Michelle’s ex-boyfriend, Harry Osborn, never understood why she would frequently cancel on their dates for the sole reason of spending more time with her baby sister. And he usually got frustrated when she stopped allowing him to sneak into her room late at night, because she had begun singing Maya to sleep.

Harry never got it. 

He never would. 

So when he and Michelle eventually broke up at eighteen years old, heartbreak was still lost upon her; still unknown and foreign. Michelle Jones had never learned what it was like to have her heart broken. 

Some say it was because she had Peter, her best friend, her favorite person, the boy she was truly in love with, the only person she wanted forever with. 

But Peter had known it was mostly because she had Maya.

And there is no one more capable of breaking Michelle’s heart than her little sister.

“What do you _mean_ Maya’s waiting for me at home?” Michelle exclaims in the middle of the snacks aisle.

Peter pushes the cart, picking off bags of chocolates and chips as he goes and joining them with the rest of their items.

“I may have called your parents and asked if they wanted to help us decorate the tree.” A large jar of guacamole catches his eye, and he grabs it, Michelle’s eyes going wide at the high price. “They said yes, of course.”

“But-” Michelle watches as Peter goes about his business down the aisle, procuring any snack that he pleases, acting as if calling her parents isn’t a big deal. “Why would you do that?”

Just then, Peter reaches for the jumbo pack of Reese’s, the chocolate peanut butter cups that Michelle hasn’t had since New York City. He holds the bag, hovers it above the cart and stares, for a moment or two, deep in thought. Michelle approaches him as he decides to drop it in, and the realization settles upon her that Peter absolutely _hates_ peanut butter and that he would rather eat a spoonful of wasabi than a pinch of guacamole. 

But Maya?

Reese’s are her favorite.

And to her, guacamole is _to die for_.

Peter shrugs and looks to her, but it’s not just any look. 

“I miss them too.”

Michelle bites her lip and turns her face to the floor, letting those signature side bangs of hers partially hide her away. But for what it’s worth, there could be the darkest curtain, the thickest wall, or the largest ocean separating Michelle from her best friend, and yet, he would still be able to see her; still be able to _read_ her like she’s the only book he’ll ever pick up and could never put down.

Peter Parker always had a funny way of doing that. 

“I don’t want our home to be empty,” she whispers eventually, when they’re at the self-checkout lane, their total price nearing the hundreds.

Peter scans a container of red and gold ornaments, adding another eight dollars to their receipt. 

“It won’t,” he whispers back, the simple sound of the price scanner as it rings up their items could never amount to the weight behind those two words. 

They wait for the receipt to print, the machine reminding them not to forget their shopping bags.

Peter repeats, “It won’t.”

* * *

There are many things Michelle will remember about that Saturday after Black Friday.

For starters, there is the look on Peter’s face when he realizes that his instant web-dissolving solution was left behind in Queens. And in the grand scheme of things, this solution doesn’t hold too much importance, except for the fact that Peter decided it was a good idea to secure the Christmas tree by webbing it to their car.

It takes a couple of hours to remove. Michelle’s mother tries not to complain.

Aunt May shows up around dinner time, bearing leftovers from Thanksgiving: pumpkin pie and honey ham, a few bottles of wine. Lots and lots of wine. 

The hug Maya gives Michelle is unforgettable. She squeals and practically catapults her body towards her older sister, latching herself onto Michelle’s waist before she can even make it through the doorway.

“Elle!” Maya cries in glee, hugging her tightly and cutting off any circulation to the lower part of Michelle’s body. But she doesn’t mind. She can’t mind. Not when her little sister is here, and their home isn’t empty anymore, and Peter is bribing Maya with chocolate peanut butter cups for a hug of his own.

“What?” He holds up the bag of chocolates and watches Maya’s eyes grow wide. “No hug for your favorite?”

“Peter!” she screams, launching herself into his arms.

Michelle will also never forget that evergreen tree. That gorgeous, earthy evergreen tree from the farm. It had been too tall, the top hitting the ceiling and causing dust to rain all over them. Maya pretended that it was snow. And Peter had to run out and buy a saw, which became just another item on their endless list of purchases from this weekend alone.

But in the end, it all worked out. In the end, the tree shone brightly with their LED lights and red and gold ornaments, Peter carrying Maya on his shoulders so that she could top it with a star. 

Aunt May had begun decorating the fireplace with tinsel and garland, Michelle’s parents were in the kitchen heating up their dinner on paper plates, and Maya had started spinning around in her fluffy socks, dancing with Peter to Christmas music on the hardwood floors, careful not to slip, but excited at how easily they could glide. 

Michelle would have joined them, if it wasn’t for a lone box at the foot of their bed catching her eye, wrapped in Santa Claus wrapping paper and adorned with a big red bow; the tag reading _For MJ, from Tony_

A gift from Tony Stark warrants a raised eyebrow, considering his other gifts from previous years, such as a snowmobile that he recommended taking to the Poconos. Or a water bed after Peter stupidly asked him for advice on how to spice things up in bed. Or that horrifying big bunny that Tony swore was thoughtful and romantic, only to be followed up with an apology letter from Pepper.

So, Michelle tears through the paper in seconds, bracing herself for another questionable gift, but instead, reveals colors of red, blue, and gold and a star she would recognize anywhere. 

She almost can’t believe it. She thinks she might be dreaming, until a note flutters onto their bed sheets with words scrawled in blank ink.

_Peter mentioned you were looking for this, so I called in a favor._

With all that he has, Tony Stark could be Santa if he wanted to. Because there, laying before her, is that dreadful limited edition Captain Marvel doll that caused her so much pain and heartache throughout the previous day. It’s there, in the flesh, or more accurately, in _plastic_ and resin and synthetic hair. 

Michelle has to laugh, because she should’ve known that smug billionaire could pull some strings. 

She’s just mad she didn’t think of asking him first. 

_Merry Christmas, MJ. I hope Maya loves it._

Michelle nods, making a mental note to write him back, before leaving the room in a hurry to find Peter. She shakes her head when his eyes meet hers from across the living room, sitting on the floor with her little sister as they build a train set underneath the tree. The sight tugs at her heart, mending it whole again, no longer broken.

She joins them on the floor. Michelle and Peter exchange knowing glances as Maya starts babbling on about what she wants for Christmas and what she hopes Santa will leave for her on Christmas morning.

“Captain Marvel is my favorite superhero,” Maya says, flashing a toothy grin at Peter.

He pouts. “Not Spider-Man?”

Maya giggles and pokes a finger to Michelle’s arm with a teasing scrunch of her nose. “No, I’m not allowed. _Elle already called dibs._ ”

Peter smirks at that, another boost to his ego. And even if she wanted to, Michelle can no longer pretend like she’s not still smitten over him, still head over heels, or still that same young woman who knows exactly who excites her.

“She really likes this guy?” he asks Maya.

It’s Peter Parker. The man who loves her, who loves her _family_ , whose family is hers and vice versa. His life is intertwined with hers in every way that matters. 

Maya shakes her head. “She _loves_ this guy.”

It’s Peter Parker forever.

Michelle will never forget that feeling. Of seeing her family gathered in her house, Christmas lights all around them, the sound of laughter and music in the air. A full house is filling her up, and suddenly, she’s got it all figured out. 

With Maya’s Christmas gift out of the way and a train set that is slowly but surely running its course around the tree, Michelle decides, right then and there, she’s ready for the rest of her life to be filled with days like this.

She’s wanted days like this for forever.

Later that night, when it is just Peter and Michelle in their half-furnished bedroom and nothing but the street lights outside pouring in through their window, Peter climbs into bed and asks his wife what she wants for Christmas.

“A bookshelf,” she answers without hesitation. “To the _ceiling._ I want to be able to fit all of my books on there while also having enough room for the new ones.”

He nods, a sleepy smile on his face. “Okay. A bookshelf to the ceiling. Anything else?”

“And a cat. I would also like a cat.”

He yawns. “I can’t promise you that one.”

“That’s okay,” Michelle answers, moving closer, straining to see his face in the dark. The Black Friday shopping and Christmas tree decorating is beginning to take a toll on her; her body screaming to rest. “I’d like something else then, but it’s not exactly a gift.”

Peter rubs the sleep from his eyes, trying to stay awake. “What is it?”

She angles her head to press a kiss to his neck and hears him sigh in bliss and serenity. Nuzzling his ear, she kisses there too, before whispering: something they have constantly talked about before but never got around to actually planning.

“Can we try?” she asks, tired but giddy at the same time. “And start a family of our own?”

He answered with a kiss to her temple as sleep starts to pull them under.

“Yes,” Peter sighs, finally drifting off. “ _Yes_.”

Everything is changing, the world is different now, but it’s family forever. It’s _him_ forever. New Jersey is finally starting to feel like home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i built an entire family for michelle jones, because who is canon? idk her...
> 
> also hi. yes. hello. tony stark isn't gone unless i say so. he's alive and thriving, thank you.


	6. On My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> michelle isn't getting a tattoo, despite the lyrics to this song. so i had to improvise :)
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

**\+ ONE**

**_Twenty Seven Years Old_ **

_  
After six days in your arms  
I got that tattoo **on my heart**  
'Cause I'm your moonlight, you're my star  
And nothing's shining more than you, boy  
_

Peter Parker is the love of her life.

This, Michelle Jones, is absolutely certain of. 

Sometime in the very distant future, on her deathbed, hopefully in her old age, Michelle’s life will flash before her eyes. And in those flashes, she will catch glimpses of the people in her life. Her lovesick parents, her sweet little sister, her dearest friends, her coworkers she has grown to tolerate, maybe even adore. 

There will be flashes of milestones such as her glorious college graduation, her first job promotion, her wedding day, and those precious, cherished moments when she was still growing up; when change was constant, because everything was new. Her first day of school, first school dances, first crushes, first trip to Disney World with the family, and many more firsts afterwards.

Yet through it all, Peter Parker will appear as a constant. Never wavering. Unblinking. 

Because at eight years old, when he crashed into her life (read: accidentally crashed his _scooter_ into her _ankle_ ) one fateful summer morning, there hasn’t been a day since when he wasn’t by her side. 

So yeah, she is absolutely certain Peter Parker is the love of her life.

However, everything she thought she knew came crashing down at twenty-seven years old when she experienced another monumental first.

One night, with a startling shake to her core, waking her up in a cold sweat before rushing to the bathroom to empty her stomach, Michelle realizes that Peter Parker isn’t the love of her life.

It is someone she has yet to meet, instead.

* * *

“Look, MJ! It’s snowing sprinkles!” Peter laughs and brightly smiles as her little sister giggles with eyes closed, the sprinkles falling from his fingers into Maya’s hair. 

A year has passed, and their house is no longer empty. Michelle was able to purchase that loveseat she wanted, with a rug like her grandmother’s, and there’s a tiered crystal chandelier hanging above their long mahogany dining table. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and they’ve all decided that Christmas is to be spent down in New Jersey this year. It’s not much different from their previous holidays in Queens. 

Her parents are pouring the alcohol in wine glasses and Parker is barking nonstop at the train set underneath the tree. Aunt May is helping out in the kitchen, while Maya and Peter bake cookies for Santa Claus, and there’s an unfinished gingerbread house abandoned on the counter.

The television is on, and as usual, Michelle’s parents are completely engrossed in some sad winter movie about a dying dog. When Parker joins them on the sofa halfway through the movie, her mother laughs through her tears and pulls him onto her lap. 

Rolling her eyes and wondering why on earth her dog seems to love everyone more than her, Michelle sticks her tongue out at Parker. 

He’s the most annoying pet, but not quite the bane of her existence. That title is reserved for another soul, the one who will kick and scream and cry their eyes out, keeping her awake in the middle of the night.

A soul Michelle is excited to meet in nine months time. 

Michelle’s grandmother is curled up in the loveseat, a blanket thrown over her, the flickering firelight casting shadows upon her face. Michelle goes to sit beside her and joins her legs underneath the blanket, feeling the fire and fabric warm her entire body. 

From here, Michelle can see the snowing sprinkles as Peter, Aunt May, and Maya make a mess in the kitchen; flour in their hair, frosting on their clothes. The clock is ticking close to eleven, commencing another Christmas with the people she loves, another decade with Peter Parker in her life. 

“Why don’t you join them?” she hears her grandmother ask, wearing a soft smile and drawing the blanket up to her chin. 

Michelle shakes her head. “I can’t. The smell of gingerbread and cinnamon makes me nauseous.”

“Nauseous?” Grandma repeats in surprise, her gray hair reminding Michelle of snow. “Since when? You love gingerbread and cinnamon. They’re your favorite.”

They are, Michelle wants to agree. They totally are. Which is why Michelle finds it amusing that nobody has caught on by now, especially _Peter_ , her best friend since forever, the man who knows her better than anyone.

“Yeah, well, I’m just not feeling too well today, Grandma.”

It should be a solid lie. The Jones family have been using the “I’m sick” excuse for years now, allowing them to stay home from school or call out from work. 

But Grandma Jones knows her granddaughters like the back of her hand, and unfortunately, Michelle has a tendency of giving herself away, by involuntarily shaking her head no, even when her mouth is saying yes. 

“You’re lying to me, Michelle.” Grandma gives her a pointed look. “What are you not telling me?” she asks, with a glint in her eye.

It’s been a year, a _long_ one, since Michelle and Peter decided to try for pregnancy. And a lot can change in a year. Having Peter in her life taught her that. 

“Nothing, Grandma.” A slight twitch of the corner of Michelle’s mouth. Michelle makes the mistake of hanging her head and glancing at her stomach.

Grandma notices and gasps, whispering a little too loudly, “Are you _pregnant?_ ”

“Grandma!” Michelle scolds through gritted teeth, frantically looking at her parents and then, at Peter, who is belting out a song in the kitchen. She prays to God that he cannot overhear them. “Keep your voice down. I haven’t told anyone, _especially_ Peter.”

“When will you tell him?” Grandma leans closer, an eager smile on her face. 

Michelle chuckles. Grandma has always been one for gossip. 

“Tonight at midnight.”

“Oh, how exciting!”

“Don’t rat me out, Grandma.” Michelle pleads, grabbing her arm and narrowing her eyes. “Promise me that you won’t tell a soul.”

Michelle loves her grandmother. She swears. That woman is the strongest person she knows; an inspiration that will carry Michelle through years and decades more. But an awful feeling settles in her stomach, a dreadful—No, a _sick_ feeling, when her grandmother winks and snuggles further into the blanket.

Grandma doesn’t make promises. 

She never has and never will. 

Instead, she smirks. “So when did you know?”

* * *

_20 Days Before_

“I thought spiders loved the cold.”

“Why? Where did you hear that from?”

A strong gust of wind nearly knocks Peter off his feet. Michelle reaches out an arm to steady him. 

“Aren’t they cold-blooded?” She shrugs despite her thick coat weighing down her shoulders. They pause at the trunk of the car, pulling out their grocery bags from their trip to the supermarket. Peter curses, turning his back to the brutal wind, and presses his face into her hair as they wait for it to die down. “And I think I read that on the Internet from a _very_ reliable source.”

“Well, obviously your source is unreliable,” her husband cries, a little too close to her reddening ears. “I hate this weather!” 

Once the wind passes, Michelle tugs him along.

They find sanctuary in the form of their house on Main Street, swiftly ducking away from the stinging New Jersey winter air. They lug their grocery bags up the driveway; bags full of things such as cookie dough and gingerbread and chicken pot pies. (Michelle is really excited for the chicken pot pies). 

As they near their front door, she finds it necessary to follow behind and carefully spot him, especially since he’s shivering uncontrollably with teeth chattering and everything. 

It’s not entirely unexpected. Spider-Man, gets cold _too_. But this winter, Peter seems to be handling the weather a lot worse. And with the height of the holiday season, the temperature will only continue to drop. It worries her.

“Peter, you wanna blast the heater when we get inside?”

He shakes his head. “No, because then I’ll feel too hot.”

“I thought spiders love the heat?” she calls from behind him and knows he’s already rolling his eyes.

“Okay, now I _know_ you’re just making things up.”

Once Peter gets the door open, Michelle makes her way inside, swinging her bags atop the kitchen counter. However, Peter immediately makes his way to the sofa and falls face forward, his grocery bags following suit. He groans.

“We’re terrible people, Em,” his muffled voice comes through the cushions. 

She hums, throwing some of their food into the freezer.

“And this is surprising, because?” she trails off, despite already knowing what he’s about to say while she stuffs plastic bags into a box in the pantry.

“We forgot our reusable bags.”

His body starts to curl into itself, hands blindly reaching for the throw blanket. It’s kind of pathetic, Michelle thinks, as she watches him wrap himself like a sushi roll, twisting and turning to get as many layers as he can out of the fabric. 

She sighs, unties one of their bags and pulls out a pack of marshmallows.

“I’m sure the earth can forgive us for tonight,” Michelle assures him. 

It takes Peter about a minute to settle into a comfortable position, where he’s on his side, head barely peeking out from the blanket, staring at his wife with a silly pout. The grocery bags of brownie mix and chocolate chips somewhere behind him. 

He huffs, “I’m cold.”

Michelle crosses her arms and blinks at him. 

It’s unfair, how Peter looks comfortable and cozy while she stands there, still in those terrible boots that hurt her feet and fail to keep the hem of her sweatpants tucked in. She almost wants to scold him, for being lazy, for not helping her put away the groceries, before remembering that he’s Peter Parker, the finest gentleman she’s ever known. 

He usually helps. _Always_ helps. Except for now as he tries to warm himself up.

She sighs, “I know.”

Her feet carry her toward him, and Peter reaches out with eager arms, ready to pull Michelle down with him. He kind of looks like a baby, she nearly says, or something equally as endearing and ridiculous. But nevertheless, she slips off her boots, shrugs off her jacket, and slings away her scarf. 

Peter always makes her warm. So she won’t mind to return the favor.

She bends down, but that action alone suddenly makes her stomach lurch.

On second thought, _never mind._

Michelle recoils, and Peter’s eyes go wide.

“I gotta pee,” she blurts, her stomach heaving, something making its way up her throat. Michelle rushes to the bathroom and slams the door behind her.

* * *

“Ha! And then you threw up?”

“Yes, Grandma.”

Her grandmother cackles, everyone else in the house turning to look at her funnily. Michelle feels her face turning red.

When she finally grows quiet, and everyone returns to their business, she asks Michelle lowly, “So you’ve known for a few weeks?” 

Michelle nods. “Yes.”

Not so subtly, her grandmother points to Peter. “And he hasn’t suspected a thing?”

Peter’s eyes flicker towards them, and Michelle starts to panic. 

Could her grandma be any more obvious?

“I don’t think so,” Michelle manages to answer through a tight, unmoving smile.

“How about your parents?” Grandma is relentless, scooting closer in the loveseat. “Did you tell them?”

Michelle kind of wants to tell her grandmother to shut up, but that would be rude; downright disrespectful even. However, she’ll never get the chance, because not even a second later, Michelle’s mother towers over her, looking down at her daughter with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Tell your parents what?”

So much for keeping secrets.

“Grandma!” Michelle shoots her grandmother a glare.

Her grandmother shrugs innocently, turning her attention back to the television and mumbling, “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you keeping a secret from us, Michelle?” Her mother scowls.

“Mama!”

“Peter!” Her dad suddenly appears behind her mother and calls over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “What’s this secret MJ is keeping from us?”

Michelle thinks she might throw up again. “Dad,” she pleads. “ _Shut up_.”

Peter looks up from his cookie decorating and shakes his head in confusion, Maya and Aunt May totally oblivious to this crisis Michelle has found herself in. 

“MJ has a secret?”

“No, Peter. I don’t,” Michelle says a little too sweetly, trying her hardest to keep a pleasant smile on her face. “Keep making cookies, please, and _mind your business_.”

Her mother crosses her arms. “MJ, what the hell?”

Michelle desperately tries to keep her cool, taking a deep breath, keeping her voice extremely low. “Mom. Dad. Go watch another movie, and I will text you both.”

“Why are you texting us?” her father’s voice practically _booms_ throughout the house, and Michelle cringes, because Peter is definitely suspicious now. He isn’t stupid, for heaven’s sake. “We’re right here, MJ.”

“ _Dad. Please._ ”

He huffs and retreats back to the sofa, her mom following close behind.

“Fine. Whatever you say.”

Her parents are idiots. Michelle angrily pulls out her phone.

 **MJ:** Please do not make a sound when you read what I’m about to tell you.

 **MJ:** _Peter doesn’t know._

Michelle sees her mother roll her eyes.

 **MJ:** _Mom, I’m serious._

A beat. Michelle waits. 

Her mother and father appear calm and relaxed, and they seem promising enough. For now. 

Michelle continues typing.

 **MJ:** _I’m pregnant._

Michelle never was a good judge of character.

Her father drops his phone. It crashes to the hardwood floor. Michelle’s mother lets out a gasp. 

All hell breaks loose.

“You’re _what?_ ”

* * *

“Mama,” Michelle whispers, hoping that by doing so, her parents would whisper too. “Mama, please be quiet.”

“My baby girl is pregnant!” her mother squeals in the bathroom, the space a little cramped to be fitting three people at once.

“Shhhh!” Michelle flails her arms around and glares at her parents. One would think that after shoving their parents into a bathroom, they’d learn to be silent. But _no_. “Would you keep your voice down? We have thin walls here.”

Her mother traces the pattern on the shower curtain and blushes. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited. I’m going to be a _grandma_.”

“Wait,” her father cuts in, settling down onto the closed lid of the toilet. He folds his hands and rests his elbows on his knees, a stern look on his face. “Does this mean you’re going to have a spider-baby?”

Michelle slaps a hand to her forehead and groans. “Really, Dad?”

“No, seriously.”

Her mother chimes in, “Your dad asks a valid question.”

“Would this baby inherit Peter’s spider-like abilities or would your baby just be average and normal and boring like you?” her dad continues, scratching his chin in deep thought.

 _Idiots_. Both of them.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Michelle deadpans, giving him her deepest scowl.

“What I mean is,” he sighs and stands up, going in for a hug. “Congratulations, baby girl.”

Her dad’s arms don’t feel as strong as they used to, and Michelle realizes it’s because she’s not a little girl anymore. That somewhere down the line, in her twenty-seven years, Michelle had grown up, gained muscle, obtained _strength_. 

She is a woman at the start of the rest of her life, and she’s standing in the bathroom, hugging the man who raised her to be as strong as she can. 

Her mother joins in on the hug, and it’s cramped and tight. Michelle is pretty sure she’s going to twist a muscle, but she loves them both for the hug anyway.

“Thank you.”

They pull away, her mother reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind Michelle’s ear. She holds her daughter’s face between her soft hands.

“You’re going to be the most amazing mother,” she tells her daughter with utmost certainty. 

And if it’s Michelle’s father who raised her to be strong, it is her mother who taught her to be soft, even if she passed down her road rage and all. 

Her mother doesn’t whisper then, and Michelle might have yelled at her for it, if it weren’t for the way her own eyes start to well up. 

That’s the thing about pregnancy. Hormones are amped up, and typically emotional Michelle is even more emotional than usual.

“I know,” she tells her parents. “It’s because I had you guys.” 

Michelle sniffles, catching a tear before it can fall. 

That’s the thing about her parents. They’ve shown her what love is. That it is strong and soft, all at once. 

* * *

Nothing means more to Michelle than hearing the wonderful woman who raised the wonderful Peter Parker assure her that she’s going to be a better-than-wonderful mother.

She runs into Aunt May before midnight, after Michelle tucks Maya into bed and reminds her little sister that Santa Claus cannot come and visit unless she’s fast asleep.

Maya dozes off, instantly.

Once Michelle exits the guest room, Aunt May pulls her aside.

“So,” a slight twinkle in her eyes, hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses, already tells Michelle what this is about, “Your mother told me that you’re expecting.”

There’s a clatter of dishes as Peter cleans up in the kitchen. Michelle backs further into the dark hallway, Aunt May following and nearly tripping over a few slippers scattered about.

“Peter doesn’t know,” Michelle whispers, keeping the sight of Peter scrubbing a pan with a sponge in the corner of her eye. She nervously twists the wedding ring on her finger. “I’m telling him soon. At midnight.”

Aunt May notices Michelle’s fidgeting and reaches for her hands. It’s something May has done many times before, throughout the years, since Michelle was a kid: tracing circles over her knuckles to help her calm down. 

Something as simple as a touch makes Michelle sigh.

“Congratulations, MJ. That’s my girl,” May whispers with that lovely smile of hers, before pulling her daughter-in-law into her arms, for a hug that Michelle will remember for a lifetime. “I’m so happy for you.”

A tear escapes from Michelle’s eye, slipping from her face onto the exposed skin at May’s neck. 

“Can I ask you something, May?” 

Michelle feels the nod of her head. “Anything.”

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?” 

More than anything, Michelle wants to amount to this force of a woman. 

She feels the shake of May’s head.

“I don’t think. I _know_.”

* * *

Whoever they are, whoever this baby grows up to be, Michelle already knows that their child is the love of her life.

It shouldn’t make sense, loving someone this much; someone she has never met, someone who doesn’t even _exist_ yet. 

But it does. In some weird, motherly intuitive way, it does. Never before has she been so sure about a feeling. 

When the clock strikes midnight, Michelle leads Peter to their Christmas tree, a small box wrapped in reindeer wrapping paper and a tiny golden bow waiting for him at its feet. 

“I love you,” Peter immediately says when he sees it; those three words continuing to mean more and more every day that he says it.

Michelle crosses her legs and sits on the floor, and without her even asking, Peter follows suit. 

He’s wearing her sweater again, to no one’s surprise. It’s her ugly Christmas sweater, the one with a horrid pattern and an itchy collar. 

She tries her best not to smile. Sitting next to Peter Parker makes it difficult.

“I love you too.”

Peter smiles at her, as she hands over the box.

“This is just the first part of your gift,” she informs him, watching as he unties the bow and slides off the ribbon.

“So there’s more?” he asks, slightly amused. 

Michelle nods. “A _lot_ more.”

Peter carefully peels off the wrapping, trying not to pull at the tape or accidentally rip the paper. She thinks it’s unnecessary, but her best friend always had a _thing_ for saving wrapping paper.

“Let me guess. You got me a watch?” he asks, gripping the box’s lid. “Is it one of those fitness watches?”

“Why don’t you open it,” Michelle gives the lid a little tap, “And find out?”

“Good idea,” he quips, and she smiles fondly at the man before her. 

Peter throws the lid off, revealing a bundle of tissue paper and glitter. His fingers delicately unravel the tissue further, to uncover whatever is buried beneath, and Michelle looks on impatiently and excitedly, as she studies the way his honey brown eyes glisten underneath the Christmas lights when he glances up at her. 

“What’s this?” 

He reaches in and removes three plastic sticks, each with two lines, meaning _positive_ , indicating _you’re pregnant_ , announcing _hey, you’re going to be a father!_

“Em?” 

His eyes are wide. 

“You’re gonna be a dad, Peter.”

Her voice is soft. 

Looking from Michelle to the pregnancy tests in his hands, Peter opens his mouth in a shocked smile.

He doesn’t say a word.

“I got a blood test too. It was positive, so it’s official,” she leans in, “I’m pregnant.”

It’s silent for a few seconds, Michelle noticing the stiff smile on his face and the less than stunned gaping of his mouth. Somewhere, in the corner of the room, she hears Parker whine, in perfect timing. She narrows her eyes at her dog. 

Peter winks. Michelle pouts.

Of course. He _knew_.

She slumps, scoffing and picking at a loose thread from her sock. “Who told you?” 

Peter sheepishly looks at her, his shoulder moving in a guilty shrug, before he gestures to the pictures on their walls and towards the bathroom down the hall. 

“We have thin walls here.”

Mentally scolding her grandmother and parents, and maybe even herself for thinking she could ever be discreet, Michelle cringes and snaps the thread. 

“Merry Christmas, I guess?” she tries, raising her thumbs up and trying to salvage her lost surprise. 

Peter laughs, placing a hand to her knee, and gives her a shining smile that could put the moonlight and the stars to shame. She swoons, helplessly and mirrors his smile, instantly. He’s a magnetic force. Michelle learned this a long time ago; always knew that Peter Parker was something like magic.

So she doesn’t think twice about meeting him in the middle, joining their lips in front of the holly and ribbon on their Christmas tree. 

“Thanks for trying to act surprised,” she whispers when they pull away. 

It’s dizzying how warm his voice sounds when he whispers back, “I’ll get it right next time.”

Michelle kisses him again.

This is the truest love she has ever experienced: a love with her best friend, her husband, her favorite person and partner in everything for all the years to come. It is constantly changing, day by day, but their love never leaves. It always remains. 

True love is a steady, sure thing. Solid and unfaltering. 

It is soft, and it is strong. It is everything she wants engrained onto her heart. 

“Merry Christmas, MJ,” Peter says, five minutes into Christmas Day.

Michelle sighs. She can’t wait for her true love to meet the love of her life. 

But she will. 

She will wait forever if she has to.

So it is a good thing she only has to wait nine long months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 2020! here i am (a couple of days late), ringing in the new year by creating this little home for peter and michelle. 
> 
> many warm wishes, and i hope this year (and decade) brings you happiness and success and all the good things <3

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on tumblr: [@rockyblue](https://rockyblue.tumblr.com)


End file.
